I smooth her hair back with both hands, looking deep into her eyes. “You got me.”
29
MAVERICK
Another week down, and we’re moving closer to the Western Division win, closer to the Cup. Our last series before conference finals is against the Winnipeg Bears, and it’s a tough one.
We won the first two out of town, now we’re back home and hoping for two more. My head is distracted because it’s Dove’s last night before she leaves. I can’t stop thinking about her being gone. I can’t stop feeling like a part of me is being torn out and taken with her.
I’m in the locker room, getting ready to join the guys on the ice when I decide to make the call. I don’t have much time, but I need to do this.
I need to get my focus straight, and the only way I’m going to do it is to have a plan.
“Hey, little man.” My dad’s warm voice has a smile in it.
It warms my chest and gives me hope. He got through this. He survived.
“Dad, we’re the same height.”
His deep chuckle makes me smile. “No matter how tall you get, you’ll always be my little man, Maverick.”
“Fair enough.” I guess I still think of him as bigger than me.
“Are you calling to get on the show? It’s a good time for hockey, and the ratings always soar when you call. Listeners love the family chats.”
“Sure, yeah,” I nod. “Let me finish the season, and I’ll be there.”
“It looks like you guys might go all the way this year. We’re all rooting for you back home.”
“Thanks…” I nod. “That’s what we’re hoping.”
A brief silence falls on the line, and my heart beats too fast. I’m second-guessing everything right now.
“What’s on your mind, Mav?” Dad’s voice is all-knowing. “I love chatting with you, but we both know you never call unless it’s something serious.”
Squinting my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry. I should do better about that…”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Dad chuckles. “I was your age once. You think I called my dad all the time?”
I exhale a laugh, dropping my hand. “No, I guess you didn’t.”
“Okay, then, spill it. What’s going on?”
“Ahh…” I turn, leaning against the locker-room wall. “I don’t know how to ask this.”
“Son,” his voice is measured. “Just say it.”
Dropping my head back, I do. “When did you know it was time to walk away? From football, I mean. Like, when did you know it was time?”
“Wow.” He clears his throat. “Not what I was expecting, but okay, well, I guess… for starters, when I met your mom.”
“Was that it?” I ask quickly.
“It was a big part of the reason, but I’d also been playing a long time.” I hear him lean back in his chair, and I also hear the smile in his voice. “When I met your mom, I found something I loved more than football. I still loved the game, of course, but the shine was off. Then that last injury was pretty much the final nail in the coffin.”
“It was pretty bad.” I’ve only watched the replay once. Actually, I didn’t even make it through the whole thing, and I never want to try again. “But you also had a Plan B. The radio station.”
“Sure, but it was a risk. I had no idea it would work as well as it did. I really credit your uncle Zane and Garrett and Hendrix for helping it take off. Listeners love a round table.”
