We brainstormed a few more ideas, giving me a short list of options. It would be difficult to make the kind of money I didat the Midnight Market, but I couldn’t dwell on that any longer. That was over.
“Okay. How about grocery shopping and delivery? Lots of people use that. Or the ballpark? They gotta need people. They’re actually winning for a change.”
I shrugged. “That’s a good option. Maybe I’ll try that one.” I needed this conversation to end.
He squeezed my shoulder as he walked by. “Don’t worry. Something good is coming your way. Much better than working for that fuck stick Richard.”
I smiled, searching for the positivity I needed. The problem was making it work with my schedule. So I went to work filling out online applications, and when that was done, I packed up my computer and headed to the cool confines of the public library. At least I could get some preliminary work done on my capstone project over the weekend.
Thinking back to Thursday evening, it would have made things so much easier if I had accepted Axel Hughes’ help. But I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t allow myself to do that. Living on my own terms meant sacrificing some things to ensure I was safe. Nothing in life came free. And even though I didn’t think he would take advantage of me, I trusted only myself. I could tighten the purse strings and do one meal a day until I found the right job.
I didn’t know the job was looking for me, or rather, the man was.
Chapter 4
Axel
Monday morning, I had my first official meeting with the Nighthawks management and Coach Byers. “I can’t tell you how happy we are to have you join the team. I thought you might take LA’s offer, but I’m delighted you ultimately chose us.” Hanson Byers was in his second year as the head coach of the New York Nighthawks. At thirty-seven, he was the youngest coach in the league.
“New York ticked off a lot of boxes for me. I’m happy to be here, sir.”
“I hope you find the team accommodations okay,” the GM said. “You’re welcome to lease the penthouse this season, or we can help you find your own place. You don’t have to decide today, just let us know.” He stood and shook my hand. “We think you’re exactly the spark we need out there. I know Decker is beyond happy you’re here.”
I chuckled, thinking about what Luca said about him. “That’s what I hear.”
“Let us know what we can do to help you get settled in.”
He left the room, leaving me with Coach Byers. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“What’s the availability of ice time during the summer?”
He stood and went to his computer. “I’ll forward you the schedule that outlines the community skate days and the peewee league practice. The serious parents who think they have the next Gretsky like them to skate in the summer. But they don’t start until late afternoon. The fifteen and sixteen-year-olds’ rec leagues usually arrive around six.”
When I was sixteen, hockey was the one thing that kept me out of trouble through all the difficult times with my mother. It was my escape, and how I discovered that the more I blocked everything out, the better I got.
“I sent it to you. Looks like mornings are wide open.”
“Great. I think I’ll loosen up and hit the ice for a while. It’s been a few days since I’ve stretched out.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You do that. Your ID will get you into the building. I’ll be here a while if you need me.”
I picked up my bag and headed down the hallway to the locker room. I took in the bright new arena and state-of-the-art facilities. The owner had spared no expense to enhance the fan experience with restaurants and gear shops, along with physical activities for the kids during intermissions. Mitchell Hoffman had been serious about this venture, reassuring me I’d made the right choice.
Inside the locker room, I found my cubbie, already labeled with my name. A few were empty with no nameplate, while I found Decker across from mine, and Kozlov next to him. Trades were constantly made, and I was sure I wouldn’t be the only new Nighthawk before the season started. It was inevitable. I put my bag on the floor, dug out my skates, and unwrapped my practice sticks. “Welcome to New York, Hughes.”
It wasn’t long before I dug my blades into the ice, skating lap after lap, trying to clear my head. The scent of the refrigerant overpowered the smell of embedded sweat in the offseason. This building wasn’t old enough to have that unique aroma yet.
Most players, like Decker and Kozlov, took advantage of the two-month break to spend time with their families. I used the time to keep in shape. The rink had always been where I felt most at home. My coaches became my role models, picking me up and dropping me off at home when my mother couldn’t. All that kid wanted was for someone to be present. By the time my stepfather came around, I was too old to care anymore.
When I’d exhausted myself to the point that my legs burned, I called it a day after thirty minutes on the bike to cool down. I was feeling productive until I walked outside. There, sitting on one of the benches, sat my father, Davis Kennerly himself. He looked up and immediately got to his feet.
“Axel,” he said as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.
“What are you doing here?”
I watched as he shifted on his feet, then shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked so much older than the last time I saw him two years ago. More gray hair. More lines on his face. Not quite the put-together businessman I’d seen in my brother’s photos. “I was wanting to take you to lunch. I hoped we might talk.”
I tightened my jaw and looked at the ground. “I don’t think there’s anything to say. You made your choice years ago.”
