Unbreakable(62)

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Ready to puke my guts out on the floor from nerves, but other than that, I’m good.

He gives me a knowing grin. “Relax. You’ve got this, Maverick.” He taps my skates with the end of his stick before turning and walking back to his stall.

I hope he’s right, because I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. Though I doubt I’ll see a lot of ice time, I’m anxious to get going. The moment my skates hit the ice for that first shift will be frozen in my mind forever.

I’d give anything for my parents to be here and see that moment. They were nothing but supportive of my dream to play hockey professionally, and we’d often joke about what they’d do when they saw me play in my first big league game.

My mom said she’d make a big sign and hold it up during warmups to embarrass me. My dad vowed to get a customized jersey with my name and number on it to wear for that first game.

In reality, my mom would’ve forgotten to hold up the sign and cried her eyes out instead, while my dad stood proudly by, bragging to everyone that it was his kid down there on the ice. I remember telling Emmy about their plans. She’d said that my dad would’ve snuck in cigars to pass around to everyone sitting nearby. Not that he could’ve lit one during the game, but she probably wasn’t far off the mark. My dad loved his cigars.

The fact that I’m playing for the Toronto Wolverines makes these memories even more emotional for me. Not many people get to make their professional debut for their hometown team. I grew up watching the Wolverines with my family. Saturday nights at my house were for hockey, and we’d never miss a Toronto game. Mom would always make popcorn for us, while Dad would sit in his big chair, cigar in one hand, can of beer in the other.

I really miss them.

Axel and Dylan and a few of my other teammates will be here at the game tonight cheering me on since the Smoke has the night off. And while I’m grateful to them for being here, it’s just not the same as having family in the stands.

That’s the one thing about having parents who don’t have any extended family. When they pass away, you have no one left. All four of my grandparents died when I was small, and I’m not close to my dad’s brother, Charlie. I haven’t seen him since my parents’ funeral three years ago. I sent him a text that I was playing tonight but never heard back. Not that I expected to.

The two people I wish could be here tonight are Em and Sully. But since I’m probably their least favorite person right now, I decided not to ask them to come. Besides, it would have been awkward and painful to invite them and then have them not show up.

I haven’t talked to Sully much since that night at his apartment a week ago, but thankfully, he’s stopped being a total dick. He also acknowledges me at practice now, so at least that’s progress.

I figured a week was a good amount of time to wait and let things cool down before approaching Emmy again. I was planning to go and see her yesterday, but then I got news of my call up. After that, I was emotionally overloaded and running on adrenaline. I decided it was best just to get through tonight and approach her once everything calmed down.

Part of me regrets not telling them, though. After all, it’s the biggest night of my life, and I just want people I love in the audience. I want to share it with someone.

Time flies by as we finish getting dressed and ready for the game. I’m trying hard to stay in the moment and absorb all of this—the coach’s pre-game talk, the players lining up to take the walk down the tunnel and out onto the ice, and the pre-game rituals and joking around.

A few of the other guys on the team clap me on the back before we head out to the rink. It’s just so surreal.

Before I know it, we’re heading down the tunnel and toward the ice. Little kids hang over the railing wearing Wolverines jerseys. They yell and hold their hands out as we go by, anxious for the players to acknowledge them. I hold up my fists and try to bump all their hands as I go past. After all, I used to be one of them, and I remember the feeling of watching the players take the ice. They were larger than life to me, like gladiators.

Everything comes at me at once when I’m finally on the rink—the sound and feel of my skate blades on the ice as I tear around our zone, the smell of the arena, heavy with popcorn and cotton candy, and the noise of the fans. They’re excited and cheering, even though it’s only warmups. Music blares from the speakers as the players begin stretching and taking shots at the net. I pause for a moment near the boards and glance around, trying to take everything in and commit it to memory.

Directly in my line of sight across the rink in our zone, I see someone holding a big white sign with my number, 14, written on it in purple ink. It’s directly against the glass and impossible to miss. Lots of Toronto Smoke fans attend the Wolverines games, so it’s cool to see this little show of support for me. It pumps me up.

I take a few shots at the net and glance up in the direction of the sign again, but it’s changed.

In its place is a sign that reads, “We’re so proud of you, Mav.”

Emmy peeks out from behind the sign and gives me a smile.

Everything feels like it switches into slow motion when I see her, except for my heart, which is pounding away in my chest.

Her hair is straight and loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a purple and white toque—Wolverines’ colors—and a Wolverines home jersey. She turns around, and emblazoned across the back is my name and number.