A Dash of Spice

Catherine Winchester always knew when to rein in the emotions. She smiled prettily and said, “I suppose I just build you up because you’re my son.”

Ah. That was more like it.

“Yeah. You’ve really gotta get over me.” Though Scout secretly loved how she fussed and gushed. He hadn’t had enough of that in his life. Because he hadn’t

been around her enough. Changing the subject, he asked, “Have you seen Ciara?”

His mother beamed up at him. “She’ll be here, sweetheart. Ciara wouldn’t miss this for the world. Never doubt that.” She gingerly patted his cheek. Then shook her head and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Look at me, ruining your tough-guy image. I’ll go inside.”

She started to move around him. Scout called out, “Hey, Mom.”

She looked back at him. Smiled. “Yes?”

“Thanks for being here. Thanks for…everything.”

His mother dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. It made Scout’s throat tighten.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, either. Never doubt that.”

Coach E. came along at that moment and offered his arm to escort her inside the rink. Scout took a few seconds to collect himself. This was all very surreal and completely out of his realm of normalcy. Sure, the TBI had jacked his program and left him off-kilter and feeling vulnerable. But the motherly and town love stuff…? That was really throwing him for a loop.

“Come on, Man of the Hour,” his agent, Preston Hills said. “You’ve got a packed rink. Nothing new for you, I know. But given that it’s practically Scout Winchester Day in Plymouth Rock, it’s a big deal for you, Mr. Hometown Hero.”

“Let’s not get crazy here.”

Preston, a tall, lanky, all-business sort in a suit and neatly trimmed sandy hair said, “You’ve really got to learn to enjoy the limelight, kid. This isn’t just about what you can do with a stick and a puck and a net.” As they headed up the steps to the main level of the stadium-styled rink, he added, “I know the goalies try to intimidate the hell out of you, but you’re the one who ends up scaring the bejesus out of them with your skating speed, sheer determination and slap shot velocity. Yet at the end of the day, it’s how you manage all the off-ice stuff that makes you great. All the time you spend helping to train and coach kids, money you donate to organizations to help offset the costs of guys playing in leagues that aren’t school-sponsored, the contributions you make to the sport, in general.”

“Jesus, Pres,” Scout snorted. “You’re making me sound like a good guy here.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” His agent snickered.

They yanked open the heavy wooden double doors at the entrance of the large building with the rugged stone façade. Inside, there was a buzz of activity to rival the excitement outside. Artie from Artie’s Groceries and his wife Mimi were serving free hot dogs. There were also complementary sheet cake squares and cupcakes with the hockey theme from Bella’s Bakery. Canning with Catherine’s most popular jellies and jams offered up on toast points. Face painting. Slap shot demonstrations and competitions with plastic sticks and hacky sacks to keep it all safe. The list went on and on. Scout was a bit mind blown.

They made their way down to the ice. The official unveiling ceremony got underway, with Scout and Preston joining the mayor and Coach Emerson at center ice. The PA system came on and the mayor welcomed everyone. Gave his spiel about Scout and what he meant to the sport, this town and this particular facility. Then the canvas covering the signage at the main level on both sides of the rink were stripped away to reveal Scout’s name added to Winchester Ice Rink.

He got a little choked up, no doubt about it. Knew it’d be worse when his pro team retired his number. But he expertly held it all in. Though it was especially emotional when Scout caught a spark of light out of the corner of his good eye—a golden flare against the top corner of the “S” in the sign. Could have been a flash from a camera. But there weren’t any others like it. And the jolt deep in his gut told him there was a reason for that.

He grinned.

Grandpa Win was with him again.

That, and the glimpse of Ciara on the upper level, next to the south-side sign, brought a little inner peace to him. Made him start to feel a little more at home…

Chapter Four

Ciara took the saved seat next to Catherine, not the least bit surprised that the arena that accommodated five-hundred had turned into standing-room only.

Scout made a quick, though well-thought out and articulate speech that was filled with gratitude for his supporters and his appreciation of the league and high school games, coaches and players, and of course, his grandfather.

That got the tears going in the crowd, especially since everyone had loved Grandpa Win. But Scout played it cool. Kept his voice on an even keel. Ciara knew it was a good show on his part.

The pee-wees took to the ice in the first exhibition game and it turned into a laugh riot as they tried to walk in skates, run in skates, pretty much do anything but actually skate from one goal to the other, set up using only a quarter of the ice for them. One overly zealous kid in particular took off with the plastic demonstration puck moving in front of his stick and headed straight for a goalie.

His goalie, but whatever. It was totally cute.

The teammate tried to warn him off. As did the crowd. Scout came charging onto the ice after him, caught the kid about the waist and hoisted him up. Set him on his skates going in the opposite direction and gestured for him to head that way.

Munchkins will be munchkins, though. The tiny kid maneuvered the puck and his body around and once more took off toward his own net. The other skaters attempted to intervene, but this one was full of determination. A Scout Winchester in the making?