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I forced a smile onto my face and fell into step beside him.
“Here they are,” Bell announced, ushering Mikey and me into the circle. “Two of the Marauders’ finest.”
Mikey barely managed to disguise his snort before a man dressed in a suit that was approximately two sizes too small for him stepped forward, his arm extended my way.“Callahan,” he said, gripping my hand in both of his and pumping furiously. “Been waiting for you to finally join us.”
“Us?” I asked, looking to Bell for clarification. “Were we supposed to have come over sooner?”
The man let out a booming laugh. “He’s got jokes, too.”
He finally let go of my hand, and I fought the instinct to wipe my palms on my apron or ask Sandra for some of that hand sanitizer she kept tucked in the front pocket of her overalls.
“Great showing against Brooklyn the other night. Really impressive work on the power play, not giving their PK room to breathe.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“A winning streak and giving back to the community,” a woman dressed in a form-fitting black sweater dress and high-heeled boots cooed appreciatively. “You love to see it.”
“The Marauders are deeply committed to making a tangible impact in the community, especially during the holiday season,” I responded, making sure to get in at least one of the talking points Penny had made me memorize.
Thankfully, they each looked suitably impressed before the man launched into a story about how the game had changed, and not for the better.
I mostly tuned him out, murmuring, “That’s an interesting point,” whenever he paused to take a breath.
An older woman in a Marauders beanie inched her way along the perimeter of the group to reach Mikey’s other side. “I was so excited when they told us you were here today instead of Hale,” she said, flashing him a smile that made her look years younger.
“Me?” Mikey asked, jerking his thumb toward his chest.
“You’re Michael Porter, yes?”
He nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Then yes, you. You’re my grandson’s favorite Marauder.”
“Really?” His eyebrows disappeared under a tangle of curls that had fallen against his forehead. “You’re sure about that?”
She chuckled at his obvious surprise. “He was telling me something about Rochester not knowing how to use you, and how they must have felt like idiots after you signed here,” she beamed. “He went nuts for that goal you scored against Minneapolis.”
“Definitely an improvement over Tremblay,” the suited man said, inserting himself into their conversation since he’d effectively killed the other one. “He never seemed to know what to do with the puck.”
“Ah, well …” Mikey demurred, scratching the side of his head as Bell turned away, rubbing his hand across his jaw to hide his smirk.
“Anyway,” the older woman said, tossing the suited man an annoyed look before turning back to Mikey. “Would you sign this for my grandson, please?” She reached into her bag and pulled out a slightly crumpled program from our most recent home game.
“Oh, sure,” he said, color rising in his cheeks. “Only, I don’t have—” He glanced around, patting his pockets.
“Here.” Bell handed him a black marker.
“Thanks.” Mikey accepted it with a grateful smile, then turned back to the woman. “What’s your grandson’s name? Come to think of it, what’s your name?”
“Pauly!” she beamed. “This is going to absolutely make his Christmas.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “And I’m Eleanor.”
“Pauly’s my best friend’s name,” he told her, signing his signature with a flourish before giving the program back to Eleanor. He cleared his throat. “Hey, um. Do you think Pauly would like a video, too?”
“You’d do that for him?” she asked, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. “For real?”
“Yeah. Of course.” Mikey turned to address Bell and me. “We all would, right, guys?”
“Absolutely.” Bell stepped forward to accept the phone Eleanor had fished out of her purse. He moved to Mikey’s left side, navigated to the camera, flipped the button to front-facing mode, and hit record.
