I’ve known him since college. We were paired on the same line and you bond with your linemate like your life depends on it. Because, in a way it does. You have to work as a unit, knowing where the other is going to be. Anticipating their moves as much as the opponents.
But I’d never tell my teammates I take hockey so seriously.
I’m the guy who is going to keep it light, move things forward. And right now looking at my buddy Bingo (another nickname derived from Bing Crosby), my job is to help him crack a smile.
"If you insist. Actually, I am disinviting you." I say with a wave of my hand.
His brow furrows. "Why, Granny Franny loves me."
"Aye," I play into my Scottish brogue. "But I canny have all the lasses, and laddies, looking in your direction and not mine, ya kin."
He rolls his eyes but laughs and my work here is done.
I brush the cinnamon and sugar from my hands and clap them together. Crosby's pup Stella ambles over and I give her a good scratch behind the ears.
"Wanna come over for Scrabble tonight?"
"Sure." Crosby shrugs. He's been a little more morose than usual lately. I think something happened at the gala last Friday but I'm not going to push. Homeboy is in therapy already and he doesn't need me to pry.
"Actually, scratch that. I'm texting everyone and we're gonna make it a BrUNO night."
"I'll start stretching now." He grumbles.
"Fucking right you will. It's my last night stateside for ten whole days and we're gonna do it right."
***
"Did you see that?" Boba Tea (Bryson Svoboda) says with an astonished laugh. He just completed a set of three cartwheels through my open concept condo after his blue three was topped by a red three and then a yellow three.
This BrUNO rule is called Color Wheel and if you stack primary colors on top of each other the first person to put down the primary card has to do the number of cartwheels on the cards.
Simple rule, tricky task.
Emmett stands and claps. "I am very impressed."
"I'm more impressed he didn't knock any shit off the wall." Felix adds, as only our “Mother Hen” of a captain can.
"Yeah, that's my prized teef photo." I head over and lift the frame off the wall. I use the hem of my shirt to jokingly polish it.
My older sister, Delilah, paid extra to get it printed and shipped it to me in one business day. It’s the photo Granny put together last week but in a beautiful 8x10 frame with a mat. One side is toothless, six-year-old me wearing Del’s hand-me-down pink hockey helmet with the cage flipped up and the biggest fucking grin on my face.
I've always loved hockey.
On the other side of the frame is a picture of me from two weeks ago in our last game of the season with my front teeth missing after they got knocked out by a flying puck. It's a shot our team’s social media admin, Lydia, took as I walked down the tunnel after the game.
"How do the dentures feel?" Our goalie, Aiden "Young Gun" Youngren asks as we settle back in to continue our game. I can’t think of his nickname without remembering his epic naming ceremony his first day at practice.
Truly an epic moment.
One of the best days of my life.
"A little weird but I'm starting to forget they're there." I shrug. It's true. "It's fun to pop them out and see people's reactions."
"Shut up, do you really?" Crosby looks a little horrified.
"Well, it accidentally happened when I was ordering a coffee on the way home from the appointment, my tongue just kind of bumped them and they slipped. The look on the guy's face was fucking priceless though."
"It's too far to get my teeth knocked out so I can play that prank on Jo, right?" Bryson asks and we all chime in with a yes and those of us close enough to him add a punch or shove.
