“The good news,” she continues, “is that we have a drive home. Sam, this is Mr. Stetson.”
“It’s good to meet you, Sam,” I say.
He sizes me up with a glance then gives a polite nod. “Likewise. Thank you for the ride.”
How old did Elliot say he was? Twelve? I’ve got players in their twenties who couldn’t carry themselves half as well.
Sam climbs into the back seat just as a voice calls out from the doorway. A woman waves Elliot over. She throws me a quick, dazzling smile before jogging off toward the building. For a second, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Motherfu—” I catch myself as my eyes flick up to the rearview mirror and meet Sam’s. I clear my throat. “Your mother said you had chess club. You any good?”
He lifts a shoulder, unimpressed. “I’m alright.”
“You play hockey?”
“Nope.”
Alright then. Not exactly a chatterbox. I can live with that. I don’t go out of my way to talk either.
I glance over at Elliot. She’s talking animatedly with the woman who called her away.
“Can I ask you a question?” Sam’s query interrupts the silence I was quite enjoying.
“Sure.” Please let it be something easy. Like, “how tall are you?” or “can my friends and I have tickets for a game?” Something I can answer easily. Please don’t let it be anything about your mother. Has he noticed I’ve been staring at her?
“Have you thought of moving Wagner up to the first line?”
That has me turning around in my seat.
“I get why you brought up Davis when Oliver got injured,” he continues, casually. “He was the obvious choice and he’s done fine. I just wonder if Wagner’s skill over speed approach would bring a better balance to the existing line.”
Holy hell. His assessment is surprisingly insightful. “I wondered the same thing,” I admit. “Ultimately, I went with experience. Davis’ stats speak for themselves. I think Wagner needs more time on the second line to figure it out.”
He nods, contemplatively, but doesn’t seem sold. “That’s fair, I guess.”
I’m about to build a better case for my decision when Elliot arrives. She’s slightly out of breath, like she ran back. Her face flushed, sprigs of her blonde hair have come loose from her ponytail and are framing her face.
She’s so…alive. I forget my train of thought entirely just looking at her.
“Sorry about that!” She gives me another brilliant smile and suddenly I’m a little breathless too. “Jane was just askingme about a possible sleepover with Rhett sometime.” She stares at her son expectantly. “Is that something you’d like to do?”
Sam shrugs. “Sure.”
I notice Elliot’s face fall the slightest bit. “Just sure?” She lowers her voice so it’s just above a whisper. “You’ve never been to a slumber party before.”
Her son rolls his eyes. “Mom. It wouldn’t be a slumber party. We’ll eat pizza, play video games until we’re tired and then crash. It’s no big deal.”
For the look of disbelief on his mom’s face, I would wager it’s a very big deal to her.
I remain quiet as I drive them home, listening to their back and forth. Elliot does most of the talking, peppering her son with a million questions about his day. His answers to all of them are short and to the point, which I respect. He’d do well in the press room after a game. Calm and collected.
They have a nice rapport. It’s clear the kid genuinely seems to like his mom, and it’s easy to see that he is her entire world.
I pull into the driveway of a slightly beat-up grey duplex. The driveway has been plowed somewhat recently by the looks of it. There’s a haphazard path shovelled up to the front porch only wide enough for one person to pass.
“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Stetson,” Sam says as he jumps down from the truck.
“You’re very welcome.”
