Page 103 of Put a Rink on It

“Fine. She’s in Vermont dress shopping.” For our fake wedding and the nail in the coffin of our relationship, two ideas I keep in thought bubbles instead of voicing them, thankfully.

“Exciting.” His tone betrays the word, and he sips his drink.

More teammates show up, and we make room. Why we commandeer a table for six when there’s always more of us is another mystery I’ve yet to solve. Especially since we’re not small.

Schurbatski drags a table and chairs over, making more room. The mood is more somber than usual. Until Underwood shows up.

“Why all the long faces, fellows? Did you not hear Coach scream to forget about this practice and focus on tomorrow’s?”

It’s only his second year at the professional level, and he’s young and naive. If memory serves, he recently turned twenty-two. He’s a hell of a player, but he’ll burn out fast at the rate he’s going. I envy him for being at the beginning of his career, but not the way he’s going about it. The late nights, the hookups, the partying. That life got old quickly for me, especially the bunnies. They come with the territory of playing professional hockey, but after a couple of years of balancing hockey with sleeping around, hockey won out. Considering the millions of dollars on the line and my reputation, it was the easy choice.

Marina may also have been part of that decision, though I wouldn’t have said that at the time. It’s the way I can look back now to acknowledge it.

Damn my father and sister for seeing things I was blind to. Damn them for pointing it out.

I chug the rest of my beer and push out of the booth to hit the bathroom. There’s a line at the door.

“You’re Nero Champion,” one guy in line says. He holds up his hand to slap.

“Guilty.” I meet his hand and hope my bad mood doesn’t leak into my response. People forget we’re not only hockey players but humans with real emotions.

“This is wild. I’m coming to the game tomorrow.”

“Thanks for your support.” A canned reply is about all I can muster for the time being.

I gotta shake out of this mood. It not only sucks for me, but I can do better for the fans.

The line moves, and I make it inside, taking care of business. Once I wash my hands and exit, the guy’s still there.

“Would it be too much to get your autograph and maybe a selfie? The guys at work won’t believe me if there’s no evidence.”

I can’t help but laugh. It’s something I’ve overheard both Kaitlyn and Marina say at different times, and it’s the thing I need to shake off the mood.

“I got you. Let me have your phone.” He passes it over, and we pose for a selfie. Then I do him one better. I slide it to “Video” and record a short message. “Friends of…uh, what’s your name?” I mumble off camera.

“Jonah.”

Moving back into view, I continue, “Friends of Jonah, it’s Nero Champion. When he tells you he met me, here’s the evidence. Go Nauts.” I end the recording and hand the phone back.

“Dude, you’re more awesome than I thought,” he gushes. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. What do you want me to sign?”

His expression morphs to flustered, and he pats his pockets, coming up empty. A Sharpie hangs from a bulletin board on the wall, so I grab it and point to his shoulder. With his permission, I scribble my name on the T-shirt before replacing the pen.

Jonah outstretches his hand, and I shake it. “Thanks again, man. Hope you win tomorrow. That will be the icing on the cake for this weekend.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but my good luck charm might not be in attendance. Good thing I’ve got the rest of the team behind me.”

“Saw the engagement video online. Congrats, but way to set the bar high for some of us.” I think he’s joking, but I can’t be sure. “She’s a lucky woman.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I spout, patting him on the shoulder and returning to my teammates.

At the table, Rancourt asks, “Did you get lost?”

“Did you meet a bunny?” Underwood wonders, earning a scowl.

“I’m engaged, dumbass,” I admonish.