He exhales a small puffy white cloud that disappears into the cold air as he pushes into another long stride before answering.
“My granny took us when we were young a few times, but when I got into high school, the football team wanted us to do conditioning outside of practice.” He twists and comes to a stop in front of me. “It’s too damn hot in Texas to go running in the summer so I started coming here.”
Plausible.
He tells me that a coach from a league team saw him and started teaching him how to play hockey and he joined the team since the season didn’t conflict with football.As he continues, he skates backward again like the story is stitched together by his muscles, the movements are easy and natural as he continues. “So I started playing on his U16 team. That means under sixteen years of age.”
I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t know that I know that.
“Anyway, it didn’t take much and I was addicted to the early practices before sunrise and late nights at the freezing rink. Hockey and football overlapped some but I was always able to work it out and by my senior year, my high school added a team and I was good enough to earn a scholarship to the University of Michigan.”
My mouth drops open. The Parker I know—the one I’ve been analyzing, arguing with, tutoring, and trying to coach a wide receiver with the kind of hands that should never fail him.
This may change what’s going on with said hands.
I bite my bottom lip before I ask, “So how does someone with a Michigan hockey scholarship, one of the most notorious hockey schools in America, end up playing football for our university?”
Parker’s mouth curves into a flicker of a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks away toward the painted boards sponsored by local companies as we glide past them.
In a hushed tone, he says, “That is a long story for another time.”
I let it go because I know what’s coming next and it does.
“How about you? Are you an ice skater? Ice dance?”
“I played hockey too.”
“Where?”
“None of your business.”
“You’re hiding something Doc.”
“I’m not your doctor. And I’m not hiding anything.”
“Then why did you flinch when I grabbed you?”
“It’s normal.”
“No, it’s not. I was a lifeguard for three summers and I have eleven saves. Every single person, male or female, was happy I grabbed them.”
“Parker.”
“Yes?”
“I get to say who touches my body.”
He shakes his hair and damn I want to run my fingers through it. Grab it while he’s?—
Stop.
“Fair enough.” He gestures with his chin. “So where’d you play?”
“Europe.” He doesn’t need to know every detail. Give him just enough to satisfy him.
“Oh, wow. What position?”
“Wing.”
