2. Teddy

CHAPTER 2

TEDDY

I ’m a large man and live large. Seated in first class, the odds of a mega hockey fan sitting next to me are slim. Yet, I’ve been listening to Walenty Wasilewski share his thoughts and opinions on the sport for the last hour.

Typically, I don’t mind, but I was hoping for a nap. His rundown of the final seven minutes of the last hockey game I played digs in with the hard truth that I do my best not to think about. It quickly went from the best to the longest of my life.

“That goal was yours. You were so close. The Knights were going to win.” His tone is tight like he’s reliving those moments when everything turned icy white. Then I glimpsed red—or more accurately, I felt it gushing out of my nose before the black swallowed me.

He says, “It was one of the top games in hockey history.”

I nod, wholeheartedly agreeing. As a defenseman, my objective is to keep the puck in the offensive zone. If that fails and it crosses the blue line, I have to protect my team’s goal at all costs.

Games get fun when the puck comes my way down by the opposing team’s basket. The front line are the top scorers, but occasionally I’m gifted a chance to get one for the boys.

Walenty recaps it like a commentator, “It was a make-or-break game toward the end of the season. Lemon, Neal, and Savage played tic-tac-toe with the puck, touring the ice—a give-and-go all the way. I think it’d kissed everyone’s stick before you broke from the pack.”

“It’s a hockey highlight I’ll never forget.” My tone is as flat as a freshly groomed sheet of ice.

With each word, he pounds his thumb into my upper arm. “The Bear was open. The biscuit sailed toward you. It was the perfect setup. You knew it. I knew it. We all knew it. A sharp shot into the net.” He lifts his hands as if pleading with God to turn back time and make it right.

If only that were possible.

Even without Walenty’s summary of events, I recollect every moment. I put extra pepper into my backhand when, suddenly, my legs buckled. Well, one did. The other went in the opposite direction at the knee, an unnatural angle that the joint isn’t supposed to go.

The older man with bushy eyebrows shakes his head. “Turned into a true chippy—a big fight with you in the middle. Mitts were dropped. Faces were washed. Teeth lost. Blood shed.”

My wince is pure reflex.

His expression is pure disappointment. “Of all people, Max Vichy took you down.”

I have to be honest, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Max and I were top contenders for draft pick of the year out of college. “He’d been building up to that moment our entire careers.”

“No, you’re brothers.”

I grunt. “We were good friends. Now, sworn enemies.”

It wasn’t a shove or even him laying on the lumber. Hockey is a rough sport. We take it on the cheek, the thigh, the kidneys every game. But this was a full-body football tackle with blades, sticks, and fists. It took me down. He bloodied my face and braced my knee while another guy from the team sandwiched me from the other side. My limbs didn’t have anywhere to go.

Losing my chance to score, naturally, I fought back, but my knee surrendered. Can’t say I was a huge fan of the direct blow or the sudden twisting motion that followed with a pop .

I’ve been an A+ student from rest to surgery and rehabilitation. However, Coach Badaszek won’t let me play again until I’m several months post-ACL repair. He’s lost a couple of his defensemen to this particular injury and is taking a super conservative approach with me. Says he doesn’t want this to be what ends my career and refuses to lose me. Guess that means I’m a good player, but I don’t feel good this long off the ice.

And trust me, I all but begged and pleaded for them to take me back—even appealed to associate coach Vohn Brandt who’s never smiled in his life and whose favorite word is no .

It’s not public knowledge, and Harlow is the only one who is aware, but another team made me an offer. That would mean I could be back in action later this month— only shortly after the season starts. I don’t want to leave the Knights, but hate the idea of being benched.

That leaves me with three choices:

Be patient and wait until Badaszek gives me the all-clear

Change allegiances and join the LA Lions

Or quit and do something else—could go back to Tulsa and be a brick-layer like Dad.

Lately, I’ve been leaning toward the third choice but only because my life is frozen, held hostage by my knee—which is healed, by the way. Not only have I had a second opinion, but a third and fourth too. Ultimately, I said yes to the charity team to prove to my coach that I’m fine . . . and because of Harlow’s call about winning a trip to Maple Falls. It was like a serendipitous wink to go for it.

However, I’m torn—not my ACL—I don’t want to let the Knights down. They’re like brothers. But I also can’t sustain this lag time much longer.

Speaking of bros, my older brother texted right before the flight attendant told us to shut off our devices. Probably needs another loan. Tim is always getting into hot water, striking bad deals, and caught up in business opportunities that go awry. Reading between the lines, he got involved with sports betting when he was cut from the AHL—The American Hockey League, one level below the NHL—and has never been the same.

“I can’t wait to see you back in the game,” Walenty says, drawing my attention.

“Yeah, me too.”

Being out has got me down. Calls my whole career into question. It’s not that I’m afraid that I’ll get injured again. It’s more that I want to avoid turning out like Tim. He has his own set of rules. As in none. In some ways, I feel like I owe him since I made it, and he didn’t, hence the regular loans. But I’m not going to think about any of that this weekend . . . starting now.

When my buddy Troy Hart, an ex-NHL legend who played for the Chicago Blizzard, asked me to play with a who’s who team of hockey legends for charity, I considered saying no.

Old sailors talk about the call to the sea. I get it with the way the ice beckons. Same substance. Different state.

To sweeten the deal, his billionaire brother offered to match the funds generated and donate them to the kids’ charity.

Don’t tell anyone I have a soft spot. Then again, Harlow knows all about it. She’s the only one in the world who gets away with calling me Teddy.

There’s more to the Hart brothers’ story, involving getting Olympic-sized eyes on the arena, the players, and generating some buzz for the sport . . . and maybe improving a certain billionaire’s reputation. But it’s a win for our careers, for hockey fans because it means more games, and for the town because no doubt the action will draw scores of fans.

I wasn’t going to accept the offer, but Harlow’s call was all I needed to say yes. To not be the duster while I ride the bench. To test out the ice as it were . . . and an excuse to spend some time with my best friend.

I’ve always had a team-first mentality. But right now, it’s friends first. Well, both. I don’t get the sense she’s heartbroken about Chad-Phoenix’s knock-knock joke because that guy was a total joke.

Why Harlow was with him, I have no idea. In fact, I cannot fathom why she’s dated any of the guys who’ve been lucky enough to be in the same room with her. She’s a smart, capable, and beautiful woman.

If you ask me, she should raise her standards. One of the many cool things about Harlow is I can be myself around her. I can trust her. Not to sound conceited, but I appreciate that she’s the only girl who doesn’t fall over me. Nor is she intimidated by me—I don’t think anyone or anything daunts her.

Well, except for her family slash work situation and icy water, but that’s another story.

After the plane lands and I promise Walenty that I’ll score a goal for him at the next game, I stack my bags in a rental SUV and head toward town.

The air is crisp this far north and the sky a silvery blue. I draw a deep breath and then drive through the soaring mountains toward Maple Falls, passing the Hawk River and a sprawling resort. Troy, an old buddy, owns it with his wife, Kelly. The sweeping vistas are awe-inspiring and make me wonder if giants are real. The town nestles in a valley hugged tight by hemlock, spruce, and stately evergreens and maples.

The charming downtown area with a bit of Bavarian and alpine influence hosts quaint stores on the main street, including Shirley May’s Diner, Higgens’ Market, a coffee shop, Falling for Books—which makes me think of Harlow—and a few boutiques and several restaurants. In the town center is a sign for the Farmers’ Market on Saturday.

But my first stop is the arena .

When I arrive, Zach Hart, the mastermind behind all this, claps me on the back. “Ted ‘The Bear’ Powell, we’re pumped you’re here. Go ahead, lace up. We’ll see you on the ice.”

I’ve gleaned that he needed to do some reputation repair and maintenance, bringing him to Maple Falls, decided to do some good, and summoned the rest of us.

In the locker room, I meet Dawson Hayes and Dan Roberts—goalie and center, respectively. I quickly gather that Dan is a bit of a hero around here, being from this town and he’s our captain, though he’s on light duty as he recovers from a wrist injury.

Cooper Montgomery and I go back to college games and we shake hands. He went on to play right wing for the Tennessee Wolves. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Welcome to Pine Falls.”

“Maple Falls,” a few of the guys chorus in an exaggerated tone.

I gather he’s not entirely pumped to be here, then again, he’s a general grump. Can’t say I don’t relate. I glance at my knee, wishing I’d been at the playoffs last season.

“First time meeting off the ice,” says Noah Beaumont with a clap on my shoulder. He’s hockey’s former bad boy, but recently reformed fellow defenseman.

“When I hear Teddy, I think stuffed animal,” says Scotty MacFarland, retired left winger, current assistant coach, and all around hockey legend.

With a slight snarl, I say, “It’s just Ted.” Only Harlow can get away with calling me Teddy. My brother has a full set of dentures and I take credit for a few of those missing chiclets when he tried to call me Teddy Bear one too many times.

Cooper narrows his eyes knowingly. “Yeah. The Bear.”

“His name is Ted, but ‘The Bear’ isn’t short for teddy bear,” Zach adds.

Noah chuckles deeply. “It’s bear as in grizzly bear.”

Dan says, “It’s obvious. He’s called ‘The Bear’ because he’s a big guy.”

“Then there’s Tim, his brother, who was a polar bear. Could’ve been a clinch for the Storm, just saying.” Dawson shakes his head as if Tim not making the national league is a national shame.

He would’ve been great had it not been for his extracurricular activities and bad temper.

“You’re Tim’s brother?” Scotty asks.

I nod, not sure whether I want the association in this context. Tim regularly owes people large sums of money and doesn’t shy away from trouble. I still have to reply to the text he sent earlier.

Cooper says, “The Powells are beasts. There’s nothing teddy-like or soft and squishy about them.”

My brother used his stature, on and off the ice, as an intimidation factor, whereas I’ve been described as a goofball by those closest to me. Okay, fine I don’t let anyone see my plush side except Harlow. But still.

Exiting the locker room, unlike the stale popcorn scent of my home rink where I learned to skate back in Oklahoma, the former arena is a combination of ice refrigerant and a hint of Zamboni fuel.

It’s awesome.

There’s a bite in the air and a rush in my lungs as I take to the ice .

I live for this.

We warm up and do a few drills, figuring each other out and finding a rhythm. It’s been a while since I’ve played with anyone other than the Knights. I know their strengths and weaknesses, their blind spots, and my own like the back of my hand. This is new ground and requires me to focus in a way I haven’t had to in a long time.

While I wish I were in Omaha, as we warm up, a hum drums within me. I think this is going to be fun. Maybe it’ll even strengthen my game.

When we take a break, I check my phone. Harlow messaged, saying she’s on her way. A little zing of anticipation shoots through me. We haven’t seen each other since Sahanna and Chris’s wedding in late August. It’s the last day of September. A tragically long time, if you ask me. In that coral halter dress, heels, and her curls in a loose updo, I drooled. Literally.

I told myself the slobber was a case of sympathetic nerves on behalf of the groom and his big day. Though the memory makes my mouth water even now.

We play a scrimmage so Coach Doug Strickland and Scotty, the assistant coach, get a sense of where we’re all at and how we interface with each other on the ice.

In the pause after Dan sinks the biscuit into the net, I glance toward the dasher boards by the entrance. Harlow waves. She wears a stylish black button-down coat tied at the waist and a blue and white knit hat—or toque as our Canadian cousins call it—in the Ice Breakers colors. There’s a table with merch set up in the main concourse. Troy and his brother Zach went all out with loads of T-shirts, hoodies, and swag. I didn’t commit the details to memory, but I think I have to do some press events, photo ops, and be a general positive presence while in town, which might help Badaszek see that I’m not broken after all.

Harlow’s soft, dark brown curls waterfall from the hat, cascading over her shoulders. I swallow thickly—doesn’t matter if she’s in a gown or winter wear, she’ll someday make a man very happy . . . and drooly.

There’s no suppressing my grin as I skate over to her, meeting her jade-green eyes. Harlow’s dimples pop as she returns my smile.

Like a doofus, when I reach the plexiglass, I flip up the fishbowl and throw myself against it, pressing my cheek to the smooth surface.

She yelps, jumps back, and then laughs. “You look like a pufferfish trying to smooch a mermaid.”

Not a bad idea. But I laugh it off and she does too.

Harlow isn’t one of those giggly girls so when I get a laugh out of her, it’s like winning a championship game.

They say yawns are contagious. While that might be true, her laugh is contagious. Wildfire. Rare. I love to make her laugh. Live to hear it.

Our gazes meet through the glass, reminding me of something I’ve tried hard to ignore. To forget. To deny.

There’s been a somewhat recent development.

I’m down bad. Solid Crush. She lives rent-free in my mind. I’ve caught feelings for my best friend.

Ones I have to lock down if we’re going to make it through this weekend.