Puck Daddy

I’d done everything right to make sure something like this never happened. I’d spent all summer with her, watching her like a hawk to make sure she was responsible. I hadn’t been watching her closely enough, though. If I had, then I would have seen this coming, long before now.

The last two years haven’t been easy. Far from it. They’ve been fucking hard, which is why when I was sold back to the Arizona Cats, I thought I’d struck a little bit of luck at last. I decided that I was going to turn my life around and provide some stability for my kids. Isobel has just proven herself to be far from stable, however. She couldn’t be in her right mind, leaving the kids like that.

I have to play. I’m a player with a history of injuries, and to make matters worse, I’m a single dad with not only one kid, but two. I’ve worked too hard over the years to be an NHL player. No one is going to take the dreams I have for myself and my family away from me. Not now.

“Go back to them,” I plead with her.

“I can’t,” she states simply. “They’re at the concession stand, Tristan.”

I didn’t know whether to call the police and have Isobel arrested, or just hope that the concession stand workers had the sense to hold my kids until I got there. Luckily, we were close to the arena. We would be there in less than five minutes.

“Go back and sit with Ferguson and Darcy,” I demand again. “You owe me that much.”

“I can’t do that, Tristan. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

My breathing is labored.

My parents should be around the arena somewhere. Mom said that she would come to this game. Dad

’s health has been pretty touch-and-go over the last couple of years, which is why my mother hadn’t been helping me as much lately. She’s been too busy taking care of Dad, and I can’t blame her for that. He’s stronger now, though, and they promised to come and support me today. I just hope they haven’t broken that promise.

“Just go—”

“No! Enough is enough, I told you—”

I hang up the phone without another word—it’s probably better that way. I need to speak to my mother. I’ll find out where the kids are and then ask her to pick them up. There’s no need to panic. I’ll figure out something for the rest of the games later, but, right now, I need to play this one first.

I start dialing, and on the first ring, Mom picks up.

“Mom, where are you?”

She blurts out, “At home.”

Shit! “Why? I thought you were coming to the game?”

She sighs. “We were, but we didn’t think it was a good idea after I fell down the stairs.”

“I don’t understand, when did you fall down the stairs?” Then, a thought hits me. “I asked why you didn’t fly in with the kids and Isobel, and you said you missed your flight. Did you lie?” I feel a lump in my throat—something’s going on. Mom never lies, especially about something as important as this.

“Please don’t be like that, Tristan. We wanted to be there. I just didn’t know how to tell you the truth. Please don’t be mad.”

I try to act normal, but it’s so hard. I need to call the fucking police, but then my coach would know that I have childcare problems. But, I can’t risk my kids being in that arena alone. Fuck, they already are, and who knows where they are now?

“No, I’m not mad. We just arrived at the arena. I need to get off the bus.”

If I tell her Isobel has left the kids at the arena unsupervised, she’ll go into a frenzy. My parents are at home, in Arizona, and they’re too far away to help. There’s no way they could get to Boston in time.

Fuck, Isobel!

“Seriously, Mom. Just tell me that you’re okay?”

“Yes, just the joys of old age. Tristan, I wish that I was there for you tonight. We both do. Your dad was worried, so he didn’t want to leave me alone. You’re in our thoughts and prayers. Good luck!”

Little does she know that I need more than just luck, because not only is my career in jeopardy, but so are the kids’ lives.

“Thanks. I need to go.”

She says again, “Good luck!”