Page 4 of Over the Line

I didn’t say that, though. “Am I going to meet her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He smiled the way he had as a kid when he was trying to convince me of something we both knew was bullshit. “Especially if you’re moving here, you know?”

So not this week, then. And he again seemed kind of relieved.

Though I was curious, I let it go. I was trying to tread very, very lightly, carefully avoiding all the landmines I myself had laid between us, and I didn’t want to push this issue or any other. That Chris was even welcoming a visit from me felt huge; I wouldn’t ask questions and I’d let him introduce me to his girlfriend in his own time.

For now, I changed the subject. “You said you like playing for the Phantoms. They’ve got some pretty big stars, don’t they?”

Chris beamed. “Yeah. I’m not surprised I ended up in the minors when I first came here. I was so starstruck at my first training camp, I almost couldn’t skate.”

I chuckled. “I don’t blame you. How do you get along with them now? The stars, I mean?”

“Oh, they’re just the guys now.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Most of the time, anyway. When Coach said he’s thinking of putting me on the same line as Saints and Temo…” He exhaled. “Holy shit.”

“No kidding?” I asked. “That would be quite the promotion.”

“I know, right? But he had me do some drills with them at training camp, and he likes how we play together. He said he’ll have us practice more after Saints gets back.”

I cocked my head. “He’s out? Ooh, right, he got hurt, didn’t he?”

Grimacing, Chris nodded. “Yeah. Separated his shoulder at our home opener.”

I couldn’t help rubbing my own shoulder in sympathy. “Ouch. How long do they expected him to be out?”

“They thought six weeks, but he’s been practicing on his own. And he sticks around team practice in a no-contact jersey, so, maybe sooner?”

“One can hope.”

Liam St. Clair was Pittsburgh’s captain and one of their biggest stars. He’d been selected first overall back when Chris was still learning to skate, and he’d led the massive rebuild that had turned Pittsburgh into a winning team. I’d recently read several articles speculating that he’d be passing the torch to Chris when he retired in the next few years. I couldn’t imagine how heady and surreal it was for Chris, who’d idolized St. Clair. In his interviews, Chris always lit up when asked about working with the captain, especially when they asked about how St. Clair had apparently taken him under his wing at this first training camp and had been mentoring him ever since.

“Still doesn’t feel real sometimes,” he’d said with a laugh during a recent interview. “Like we’ll be working together and it’s totally normal, and then I’ll think, ‘whoa, dude, this is Liam St. Clair.’”

I couldn’t even imagine concentrating while I was that starstruck. “Must be awesome working with him,” I said.

Just like he did in those interviews, Chris beamed. “It’s so cool! He’s just like a normal guy most of the time, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Anyway, he’ll actually be up in the owner’s box with you tonight. He doesn’t miss a game; usually comes into the locker room for a while, then goes up there to watch.”

I chuckled. “Typical rink rat.”

“I know, right?” He sighed. “We’re definitely feeling it without him on the ice, that’s for sure. Like we can play without him, and he’s there, but we’re a million times better with him playing, you know?”

“I bet. It’s getting you some time on the second line, though, isn’t it?”

At that, Chris smiled. “Yeah. Coach bumped Andersson up to the top line until Saints comes back, so he’s got me on the second, which means I’ve been getting way more minutes. I still want Saints back, though.”

I chuckled. Such was the two-sided coin of players getting hurt—it sucked when they were sidelined, but it did give the younger guys a chance to shine. That was how Chris had been called up the first time; a forward went down for core muscle surgery, so Chris came up for several weeks, including the playoffs. He’d been a fixture on the roster ever since.

When we arrived at the arena, Chris took me into the locker room. Everyone was still easing into their pregame routines, and he introduced me around. Now I was the one to get a bit starstruck; it was one thing to know my kid was playing alongside these living legends. It was another thing entirely to be shaking hands with Temo Tehuitzil, Alex Crawford, and Chase Barnum in their locker room while they prepped for a game.

I was introduced to Gil Tangen, the team’s general manager, as well as a few other members of the staff. Gil also assured Chris and me that he’d escort me down to the locker room after the game so Chris wouldn’t have to come looking for me. That seemed to relax Chris, and it relaxed me too; we both got anxious about things like that sometimes.

“Okay, well.” Chris smiled. “I should get started on my pregame—” Something behind me caught his eye, and Chris lit up like a much younger version of himself always had on Christmas morning. “Oh, hey, Saints is here.”

I turned around and⁠—

Oh.

Hell.