He waved his left hand as he spoke. His cologne was musky and expensive, not unpleasant, but not nearly as appealing as the fresh scent that Isaac wore.
I threw a look over my shoulder at the two young guys playing soccer in the corridor. Austin blushed pink and turned his head just as Renco booted the ball to him. It bounced off his head, and he fell with a grunt.
“He’ll be fine,” Nick said as he led me along by my neck. “So, is your daughter moving in?”
“Yes, that’s true. How did you—”
“Never mind how. I have ears all over this place. There’s nothing that happens on my team that I don’t know about.” He gave me a wink. “Right, so, this favor I have is a small one, but could give big rewards. You want the team to look good, right?”
“Sure, yes, of course.”
“Excellent!” His teeth flashed white against his olive complexion. “So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m sending a PR team with some local media to your house to capture the heartwarming moment that your precious, but sickly, daughter moves into your home.”
I stalled like a flooded engine. “I’m not sure that having people there will be a good thing.”
“Of course, it will! Joachim, this story is big. Huge! Every network from here to Moose Cranny, Manitoba wants some time with you and precious Sophie. Can you blame them? What a heartwarming story. It’s like a Hallmark movie come to life. If only it were Christmas…”
“No,” I said with determination.
“Huh?” Nick.
“No cameras.”
“For real?”
“Really. No cameras when they move in.”
“Okay. This time.” Then he drifted off wearing a dreamy expression. “Anyway.” He snapped back, then began walking me along again. “The point is that this story is massive. And it’s only going to get bigger and bigger as we progress through the treatments. Which is why we need to get on this now, and push it big and hard. To that end, and I know you’ll be thrilled, I went right to the top of the Boston news channels. Guess who’s going to do the interview?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Belinda Berks!” I blinked down at him. His dark eyes rolled. “Belinda Berks! She’s the anchor for WBOS Action News at Six. Really? Do you not watch TV?”
“Some. Nature shows mostly, although I do enjoy a good murder mystery.”
He turned to look at me, his hand resting on the back of my neck. “Focus here, Joachim. This is the biggest story this city has seen since Paul Revere rode through town yelling about the British. Hell, this could be the biggest story to ever come out of Boston! Bigger than the tea party!”
I was beginning to think that Nick was prone to exaggeration. “I’m not sure—”
“Well, I am. If there’s one thing I know how to do it’s selling things. Olive oil, carpets, stocks, bonds, sports teams, stories. You just leave it all with me and, within a week, the people of this glorious city will have forgotten that you’re a man with a checkered past and will be nominating you for sainthood.” He lifted the Greek Orthodox cross that hung around his neck and kissed it.
“I’m just not sure—”
“Good! Here we are. In you go. Time to vote.” He shoved me into the locker room, then hustled off as if he were on a mission from God.
“Loafy! Stop dawdling out there. Get in here!” Moral bellowed, then sauntered past in just his jockstrap and a feather boa. Both were pink. I didn’t ask. The entire team was present, including Xander, who looked as if he were trying to digest something squirmy. I sat down in front of my cubicle, smiled at the umlaut, and then fell into silence. It felt like a high holy moment as Austin, because he was the youngest and tended to get the grunt jobs, handed out slips of paper and stubby pencils to each man.
“The reason we use this method is to remind us of our heritage,” Xander announced as Austin made his way around the oval room. “This is how the first Boston captain, Andre St. Price, was chosen back in 1928. Paper and pencil, then the names are dropped into the stein used by Carl ‘Cracker’ Mills who was the first starting goalie.”
Renco stood up, an old beer stein in his hand, and began following Austin. No one spoke as they wrote down the name of the man they felt would represent them the best. I jotted down Xander’s name, folded my scrap of paper, and waited for Renco. He gave me a smile as I shoved my vote into the cracked ceramic stein with an even older Rebels logo on the side. He was a cute kid. Intense on the ice, as most goalies were. Pleasant, but incredibly withdrawn, which could also be attributed to being a goalie. They were a unique bunch. After all the votes had been cast, Renco carried the stein over to Moral who, for some reason unknown to me—perhaps it was the pink boa and jockstrap—began counting each vote and marking each pick on a chalkboard that hung on the wall. Every man in the room was as quiet as if they were in church. I watched the tally rise for Xander. When all was said and done there was only one vote not for Xander, but for one of the other alternates. I had to assume that was Xander’s vote, as he struck me as a humble man. But then most hockey players were. Moral stood up.
“The team has chosen Xander Holden as captain,” Moral announced and the team, as one, rose to their feet to cheer for their new captain. Xander got a little choked up but managed to cough out a short little “thank you and I promise to do my best for the team and each of you” type of speech. Then he told us all to get our asses on the ice, aside from Moral who really needed some padding before he laced the skates. We all laughed at that, none louder than the big ginger with the bushy beard.
“Congratulations,” I said to Xander after the mad rush at his stall had cleared a bit.
“Thank you.” He grasped my hand and shook it.
“How does it feel to be the first out captain?”
“It’s fine. No pressure or anything.” He made a sickly face, then gave me a swat on the shoulder. “Do you need any help getting your girl moved into your place?”
And that right there was why some men were born captains. He could have basked in his achievement—and it was a huge one—but instead he was worrying about others on the team. Even though I didn’t know Xander well, I was happy with the vote I’d cast.
“Nope, they don’t have much,” I said and felt some sadness for their circumstances. Now that they were with me, I’d make sure my daughter was well provided for. Which was why I was speaking to a lawyer. It might take some time, but I needed to ensure that Sophie was legally listed as my child. I also wanted the world to know that she was my daughter and that her dad was taking care of her as only a father could.
I was running late to pick up Sophie and Isaac. Nick had set up some sort of presser for me. The lady who met me beside the ice was nice and pretty, but her questions were centered more on how I could have fathered a child and not known. I did my best to remain polite, but when she started getting aggressive, Nick flew in, smile in place, and led her off to have lunch with him in the owner’s box. She kept throwing dirty looks my way as she was steered down the chute from the ice.
“Wow, that was intense,” Moral commented as he skated up with a bucket of pucks that he’d had to pick up after practice. His punishment for flashing his pink jock strap at Renco to fluster the poor kid so he could sneak a goal past him. It had worked. Then he’d been whistled down by Coach and placed on clean-up duty. “Want to help collect cones?”