“Yeah. Well, I was never her biggest fan,” Mr. Echolls replies without a hint of empathy. “But my daughter loved her like a sister, and I don’t think she’s taking the news well. But I don’t know because she isn’t really talking to me. I’m worried about her.”
"Okay," I say because I don't know what else to say. I mean, I haven't even asked Mallory what she's told her parents. Do they know she's here? Did they know Diana had a kid? Where do they think Mallory is, currently?
“She said she wanted to stay in England until she was completely healed but… I think she’s back in the States,” Mr. Echolls tells me and the frown on his face falls and he looks worried. Like a dad should. “She answered her brother Beckett’s FaceTime two days ago, and it would have been, like, eight at night in London but she was outdoors somewhere and it was daylight. Full sun.”
“Okay.” I think it’s the only word in my vocabulary suddenly.
"I'm asking if you know where she is?" he snaps like I'm an idiot not getting the point of this conversation. "You and Di were the only people she stayed close to from home. I know she and Diana visited you here once. I wondered if she's talked to you since Diana died. Has she emailed or texted or anything?"
"I can tell her to contact you if I hear from her."
“Thanks,” he grunts and turns to leave without another word.
And then something he said snags in my brain. “Wait! Mr. Echolls!”
He turns to glare at me over his shoulder. I clear my throat. “What did you mean she was staying in England until she was completely healed? Healed from what?”
He blinks and his face contorts with anguish for a flash before it falls back into its standard annoyed look. “Mallory was in the car with Diana when they had the accident. Thankfully her injuries were superficial. A few broken ribs, some cuts from the broken glass, and a mild concussion. My wife and I were all set to fly there immediately when we heard but Mallory didn’t want us to.”
He looks genuinely hurt when he shares that and I almost feel for him. But I know this guy isn’t a great dad. I have been friends with Mallory long enough to know he failed her in a lot of ways, but he clearly loves her. “Oh. Well, like I said, I’ll tell her to contact you if I hear from her.”
“What’s this about?” I hear Coach Braddock’s no-nonsense voice behind me and turn around.
“Personal business.” Mr. Echolls marches off, back toward the visiting team’s section of the arena.
Braddock looks rightfully pissed as he glares at me. “Coach, he’s from Silver Bay. My hometown. I’m friends with his daughter and…”
“Do not!” He raises his hand to quiet me as I approach him. “Do not tell me you are dating the daughter of an opposing team’s general manager and who we may have to face in the playoffs.”
“No. I am definitelynotdating his daughter.” Finally, I can say something that isn’t a lie. “She’s a friend and she was living in London with…. my ex. And they were in a car accident.”
His stern face softens and his blue eyes grow sympathetic. “Shit. I’m sorry. Is everyone okay?”
“No. My ex…” Calling Diana my ex is a stretch and she would laugh in my face if she heard it, but calling her anything else is messy. “My ex died and Mallory, his daughter, was injured and he was just… well, touching base with me. About all of it.”
Coach Braddock nods and grips my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to jump on you. I had no idea. I just thought of the media speculation if you two were caught talking so close to playoffs.”
“Fair,” I say with a nod. “I didn’t mean to make problems. I honestly didn’t know he was going to want to talk to me about it. And don’t worry. I’m loyal to the Quake. I know after tonight’s performance, you might be wishing I wasn’t on the team, let alone loyal.”
“Shut up, kid,” Coach chuckles. “We all have off days. I may have won back-to-back Cups and been a Conn Smythe and Art Ross trophy winner, more than once, but I shit the bed too on occasion, trust me. Like I said in the room, shake it off and do better.”
“Intend to,” I promise and with another squeeze of my shoulder he starts to leave. But he stops and turns back to me.
“You know we have a sports psychologist on staff right?” Braddock informs me and I nod. “If you need to talk out any feelings about your ex dying. It’s tough to lose anyone you know, and we pay these guys to handle more than just on-ice issues for our team. Use Dr. Vance if you need to.”
"Okay." I turn and head out to the parking lot. I wonder, briefly, if Dr. Vance could help me with my feelings about Diana's death, finding out I'm a dad, and how to deal with it all? I mean, I know my cousin Conner sees a shrink. And Grady. For hockey shit I assume. I mean I thought that's all these people dealt with.
I pull out of the underground parking and onto one of the downtown Los Angeles streets and tell my car. “Call Conner.”
My cousin Conner is located in Maine. He was traded there last year from Brooklyn. Well, actually he wasn’t traded, he was put on waivers, which is like getting dumped. It basically ruined his self-confidence and almost drove a rift between him and the entire family. He thought we were all judging him or that he wasn’t worthy or some shit. Anyway, luckily Portland picked him up and he’s doing great there.
"Hey Tater, since when do you use your phone for calling?" he questions immediately as he answers, instead of saying hello. "Aren't you the one with the voicemail that says 'I'm sorry but this phone is only for texts and video calls. Hang up and do one of those two things if you need to reach me?"
“I decided to go old school tonight,” I reply tersely and dive right in. “You see a shrink still?”
"Hey, how are you Con? How's Mac? That hat trick you scored on the weekend was top-notch, buddy," Conner says, pretending to be a better version of me than the one I'm giving him. And then he answers for fake me. "Thanks, Tater Tot, that hat trick felt pretty damn good. How's the quest to crush Uncle J's record going? How's the weather in Cali?"
“No one calls it Cali except people not from California,” I remind him. “Sorry. I had a shit game. I’m… a grump-ass.”
