Page 21 of The Puck Bunny

“What about the puck bunny?” yells a young woman holding her iPhone in my direction.

Good question. While I give her a puzzled look I weigh the possibility of ignoring her when Dick, a Boston Globe reporter asks me about my second goal. Saved by my now favorite reporter, I intend to give Dick a master’s thesis answer for his reward.

As I get started, I notice Delaney-the-ball-buster swoop in and wave off the lady with the iPhone who’s still lingering, leaving me to go on uninterrupted about my favorite thing—scoring. Goals, that is.

A couple of the other guys come out, including Rafe and Finn, taking some of the media attention. Finally, the questions die down and the media crowd thins, leaving a smattering of mostly friends and fans. Scanning the crowd is automatic, though I don’t know why I’d expect to see any familiar faces, maybe I’m hoping to.

Maybe I should have gone home to see Mom and rallied a hometown crowd for the game, but I’ll save that for the season opener. I promised Mom and Aunt Mary—and whoever else wants to come—tickets to that game.

When we spoke, she didn’t give me crap for not finding the time in the past couple of weeks to drive an hour north to see her. My own conscience is doing all the crap-giving.

Sure, I’ve been flat-out busy, but I could have skipped the fraternizing with teammates and gone home. I’m procrastinating. I admit it. But it’s for good reason. Why should I look forward to being rejected by my big brother yet again? Letting a sigh escape as I scan the area and the faces, I stop short.

I see my best friend from childhood, Lenny Derico, grinning back at me. We played hockey together since Peewees with his dad coaching. The Dericos lived next door—hell, I practically lived at their house, practicing shots in their back yard and sleeping over half the time to get up for early practices.

I head straight for Lenny’s welcome grin, knowing he’s here for me, not because he wants something from me. Guilt about my family and the virtual blow-to-the-gut disguised as a reporter’s question about leaving behind a pregnant woman fade to a shadow.

“What the hell are you doing here, you old dog?” I slap Lenny on the back as I give him a real hug, the kind reserved for long-lost childhood friends who you never should have lost contact with in the first place.

He laughs and backs up, but there’s a hint of nerves in his smile.

And then I see why.

“Mom? What the—what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a mother come and watch her big shot hockey player son at a game?” She has a tear in the corner of her eye and her arms open.

Shit. My chest tightens, squeezing all kinds of emotions out like I’m a tube of toothpaste. I go to her, hugging her hard. I can’t believe how much I needed to see her, to have her welcoming hug to reassure me that she’s forgiven me because I haven’t been home since before Dad died. Not that she ever said she had anything but understanding. Maybe it’s me who needs to forgive myself. I hug her hard and feel her small sob as she clutches me.

“I missed you so much, honey. It’s so good to see you.”

Getting my cool back, I clear my throat and take a step back. “You too, Mom.” There are a million other things I want to say—that I should say—but even if I didn’t have a lump of emotion clogging my throat, the hallway outside our locker room after a game is hardly the time or place.

“That was some kind of game. Maybe next time you’ll get the hat trick,” Derico says.

“Sure, just don’t put money on it.”

“How about if we put money on you to have a hundred-point season?” Mom asks.

I laugh. She’s been making outrageous bets on my performance since high school—albeit, the bets were usually for chocolate chip cookies. She would bet with Derico’s dad, which was technically all wrong—or would have been if the bets weren’t always ridiculous enough for her to lose.

“Do it, Mom. I have you this time. If you win, you bake cookies for the team.”

She laughs and Derico says he’ll take that bet.

“Let’s get out of here,” Derico says. “You can buy us a late dinner.”

Shit. I lose my cool.

“What’s the matter, Quinn? You have other plans, don’t you?” Mom asks, nodding h. “Don’t worry. I know we surprised you.”

“It’s not that, Mom. But, yeah, you did surprise me. I thought we had a plan to get you and Aunt Mary tickets for the season opener.”

“I couldn’t wait and Lenny said he had tickets to this game, so…”

“You have other plans.” Derico nods. “It’s a woman right? Whoever she is, bring her along. We have a lot of catching up to do.” He has an uncomplicated clear view of life, like always. His priorities were always in the right place; he never had any doubts or confusion about where he stood or what was important. Even now, after a couple of years that I haven’t been in touch, he knows we’re still friends. Derico, in short, carries no baggage. Me? I’m like an alpaca—and the biggest guilt at the moment is that I don’t deserve his loyal friendship.

“If the problem was a date, there would be no problem.” I swipe a hand through my hair and look around for Jonas. “I promised a guy on the team I’d help him out tonight.”