Nova adjusts her sunglasses, shoulders slouching when she leans forward over her phone and looks down at me. “What would help get you there? Doesn’t have to be something huge, doesn’t have to cure you of your depression here and now. Just, what would make it easier to handle?”
Out in the room, Cauler’s alarm goes off. I glance at the door.
“Like, it would make me downright giddy if you were here on this beach with me,” Nova adds. “Or if I had a loganberry in one hand and a Tim Horton’s iced capp in the other. It can be small things like that.”
Nova is backlit by the sun, her pale skin turning pink. Laughter spikes in the background, and she glances up for a second before looking back down at me. I’d be happy if I were on that beach with her, too.
I’d be happy to be on the ice without the weight of the draft hanging over me.
I’d be happy to go out to lunch with all five of my sisters.
I’d be happy to get an A in a class other than Italian this semester.
The fact that I can think of things that would help is a good sign, right? If I was a lost cause, nothing would come to mind.
I open my mouth to say as much, but before I can, there’s a knock on the door.
“Terzo?” Cauler says, voice sleepy. “You almost done?”
“Just a second,” I answer too quickly, suspiciously.
Nova puts a hand over her mouth for a second before waving it around excitedly and mouthing is that him? I nod, and she bounces on her heels, smiling wide. “I’ll let you go,” she says quietly. She blows me a kiss and the call ends.
I sigh, taking another look in the mirror at my tired eyes before giving the bathroom to Cauler. I’m getting dressed for breakfast when Nova messages me again.
Nova: I want you to do one thing for yourself today
Promise me
We have the last game of this roadie today, then we’re on a plane back home tonight. Tomorrow, it’s back to school, where midterms are coming up fast.
But today, I think I can manage.
Mickey: I promise.
* * *
CAULER AND I work damn good together.
Even with our positions switched up, we weave around each other and swap places and know exactly where the other is without planning ahead and barely speaking. Zero adapts to us easily, but opponents can’t keep up.
I’d honestly hate to play against us.
Still, the game is tight, and I have my promise to Nova stuck in my head the whole time. I’m thinking about it when I get slammed into the boards hard enough my bones ache. I’m thinking about it when I deke around a defender and ring a shot off the pipe.
Do one thing for myself today.
I’m still thinking about it when Kovy scores. When he and the other boys on the ice skate by to knock fists against ours on the bench. I’m too busy thinking to even smile.
When I was a kid, I was always smiling at the rink. No matter what I was doing, being on the ice made me the happiest kid alive. It was fun. It made me like Dad.
Maybe that’s the thing I can do for myself today. Have fun on the ice again. Don’t treat it like a job or a birthright. Have fun on the ice with the first friends I’ve made in years.
The next time my line goes over the boards, I throw myself into the play with the kind of feverish intensity I used to play with on the pond with my sisters when we were kids. Like it’s new and exciting and I don’t know what it means to be a Mickey James yet.
I laugh when I strip a guy of the puck with this smooth blindside pickpocket and he takes two strides before realizing it’s gone. I smile when Cauler offers me a fist bump afterward. I grin and bear it when I block a shot with my ankle that leaves me limping for the rest of that shift. I call out to my teammates on the ice and shout encouragements from the bench. Coach claps me on the shoulder after a shift as I’m spraying water on my face and shakes me a little, yelling in my ear, “Great job, James!”
It feels good. It’s not perfect—I rip a second shot off the post and have to close my eyes and breathe to keep from internally berating myself—but it’s something.
“Becoming a man of the people, Your Grace?” Cauler asks me as we skate to the face-off dot after a whistle. He grins.
I shrug one shoulder. “Spend enough time with the peasants, they start to rub off on you.”
His grin opens up into a full-blown smile, dimples in both cheeks, eyes crinkled. “You little shit.”
I’m carrying the puck into the offensive zone late in the second period, and I know Cauler’s directly behind me. A defender steps in my path, and I act like I’m gonna try to deke around him, but instead I just leave the puck behind me. A second later, there’s the crack of Cauler’s one-timer. The defender I faked yells “Shit!” as the puck hits the back of the net.