This Is Forever
Page 2
“So you must be Dylan Woods,” he says, smiling at him and then getting up and looking at me. “And you must be Dylan’s mom.” His hand comes out, waiting for me to shake it
“I’m Caroline.” I smile, shaking his hand.
“There you are,” a woman’s voice says behind us. “You are ten minutes late,” she says as she walks toward us. Her swinging hips make her hair swoosh perfectly. I look her up and down, and she is wearing the best of the best. Her skirt is perfect and tight and looks like it cost the same as six months of my rent. I don’t even want to know what she paid for those shoes.
“I was just talking to Dylan,” he says, looking down at Dylan. “I couldn’t start the day without him.” He smiles at Dylan, his whole face lighting up. “Are you ready?” he asks, and just for one second, I wonder how many people are lucky enough to get that smile from him.
“Dylan,” I say, trying to ignore the two people standing around us. “Let’s go get you settled. I have to get to work.” I open the door now and wait for him to walk in with me. I try not to look over my shoulder, but I fail. His eyes are on us while the blonde talks his ear off, and then he turns to her, and she smiles at him, and he just nods.
“Welcome.” A woman is standing at the bottom of two staircases. I look around. This venue is huge, much bigger than the arenas we play at. “To the Justin Stone Summer Hockey Camp,” she says, and she has a blue shirt that says the exact thing. “My name is Malika, and I am going to be checking you in today and giving you all the information.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at Dylan, who is watching everything in awe.
“Can I have a name please?” she asks, going to her boards on the table beside her.
I’m about to answer but Dylan beats me to it in his excitement. “Dylan Woods,” he says with a megawatt smile on his face. She flips through the manila envelopes to find his name.
“Here you are, Dylan,” she says, handing me the envelope and then walking to the side where it looks like the gym bags are sitting. She grabs one and comes over, and I see that it’s blue with “Justin Stone Summer Hockey Camp” embroidered on one side. She turns it to the other side, and Dylan’s name is also embroidered on the side. She hands me the bag, and it’s heavy. “In that bag will be everything he needs for the month-long camp. There are two pairs of running shoes, five pairs of shorts and T-shirts, along with socks, a jacket, and hats. His jersey and hockey socks will be given to him in the dressing room.” I look over at Dylan, who stands there with his mouth open. “If you can have him change into shorts and a shirt, we are going to be talking to the kids group by group before their first activity. All the information is in the package along with the meals that will be provided.” She looks at her watch. “For today, breakfast is done, but if he gets here by eight, there is always hot breakfast being served.” My head is spinning at all this. “If you have any questions or concerns, everyone’s contact information is in the envelope.”
“Thank you so much.” It’s the only thing I could say, and I’m trying to blink away the sting of tears hitting my nose. “What room is he in?”
“He’ll be in room number three,” she says. “You can go to the right side, and it’s on the right corridor.” I nod at her and then walk around the staircase to the right. We pass two vending machines and come to another staircase, but there are hallways on both sides with a sign in front of it, telling us that room three is on the right. We walk down the corridor and see the rooms are open, and some kids are already inside getting changed.
When we get to room number three, we are the only ones in the room for now. Brown benches line the white cinder block walls. Off to the side is the bathroom and then there is a half cinder block wall on the left side that leads to the shower. “Where do you want to sit?’ I ask Dylan, and he walks over to the bench, sitting in the middle. I put his equipment bag down in front of him and open the blue gym bag, taking out a royal blue pair of shorts with matching shirt. The shorts have Justin Stone on one leg and then Woods on the other. “Let’s get changed,” I say, and he undresses faster than he’s ever done before, slipping on the shorts and then the matching shirt that has his name on the back. He sits down, and I grab the blue running shoes out of the bag and tie his laces for him even though he wants to do it himself. By the time we finish, two other kids have walked into the room with their dads along with Justin.
“Is everything okay in here?” he asks, looking around. I look at Dylan, who just nods.
“Great. How about we get things started by going upstairs and getting our spots for the meeting?” he says, clapping his hands. Two more kids who are a bit older walk in the room and freak out when they see Justin, who just smiles. He gives the kids high-fives, and then he looks up at me. When our eyes meet, he just smiles, and I have to look away because my heart just started to beat faster.
“Let’s go get you set up,” I say to Dylan and rush out of the room and away from the man with the brown eyes.
Chapter Three
Justin
My eyes follow her as she walks away from me as if I’m in a trance. The minute I pulled up and got out of my car, my eyes went to her as she walked with his hand in hers. I almost jogged to make sure I would get to the door so I could hold it open for her. I was only planning to help her, but then she looked up and her green eyes knocked me back and made my chest tight.
“Justin,” Amy says from behind me, and just the sound of her voice makes me shiver like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “It’s time for you to go upstairs.” I turn to look at her and try to stay out of her grabby hands. She’s been working with the foundation for six months and has tried to get me in her grasp since then, but it will never happen. One thing I’ve learned is you don’t fuck with anyone who works for you.
When we walk out of the room, and she starts to tell me everything I need to do and say, I zone her out. Climbing the back stairs, I come to the tables where the kids are sitting and the parents hang out in the back. I nod at everyone and try to find her without making it too obvious, but I don’t see her when I look around. Dylan sits at the table with another child, and when I step up to the front, the kids get quiet. Looking around, I think back to how I got here. I mean, if you think about it, there really was no other choice for me. I was born a Stone, and anyone who knows hockey, knows the Stone name.
I started skating as soon as I could walk, and I even have a picture in my condo of me on the ice with my father holding me up. I loved it, and it was a good thing because we were always at the rink, whether it was for my father or for Matthew, my brother who was drafted first overall. We have that in common, but that is where it stops. Where he got drafted to Los Angeles, I got drafted to Edmonton, and we both handled it differently. He went out and partied while I sat in my room missing home and everything about it. Mind you, Edmonton is no LA.
It was so fucking hard, and I suffered from homesickness so bad that my parents would come out every other week. Slowly, I got into the groove, and now six years later, I’ve settled, knowing that I will probably never leave Edmonton. They have me signed for another two years, and I’m not one to toot my own horn, but the stats don’t lie. I’m at the head of the leaderboard every year, and just last year, I finally beat Evan, my brother-in-law who plays with New York and is married to Zara, one of my twin sisters. My other brother-in-law, Viktor, who is married to the other twin, Zoe, finished third, and from what he told me last week, the next season will be his last. Better to go out on top than be asked to leave, he said to me. That and Zoe wants to have another child, and he wants to be home for it all this time.
The sound of clapping makes me turn my head to see what is going on, and I see everyone getting up and the parents coming over to me. I look at Amy and see her smiling. “Thank you so much for doing this,” one of the dads says with tears in his eyes. “It’s not easy to get him on the ice, and then I try to bring him to the outdoor rinks, but it’s hard.” I shake his hand and thank all the p
arents for trusting me with their kids. When they finally leave, it’s time to get on the ice. I walk to my locker room where the other hockey coaches are. I’ll be on the ice with the kids the whole day, and I’ve hired people to direct the activities off the ice as well as three extra pairs of hands on the ice to run the drills I set up.
Once I get on the ice, the doors open and five kids join me. One loses his balance, but he gets up again, and when I look down, I see that Dylan is the first one who skates to me. “Okay, today we are going to do five drills over and over again.” I explain to the kids what they are going to do during the drills. Standing on the side, I watch as they do the first drill, and I have say Dylan is good. He can skate faster than all the other kids, and he uses both hands to help skate and speed up, which not all kids know to do. He can skate backward and do crossovers better than all of them.
“Dylan, how old are you?” I ask him when he finishes the fifth drill before everyone.
He looks up at me through the cage of his helmet. “Eight.”
“How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask him, and he shrugs.
“Not a lot,” he says, and I shake my head. Having nieces and nephews, I get that it can either be all the time or once or twice.
“What team do you play for?”
“I only played a little bit last time because I didn’t have any equipment.” I look at his skates, and you can tell they are well worn in. “Mom tried to get some skates, but there were none.” I shake my head, not thinking about how that might hold someone back.
“Well, looks like you have skates now,” I say with a smile while the other kids finish. Then I blow the whistle. “Okay, let’s do it again,” I say. Dylan skates to the first cone, and I drop a puck for him. “Try to do it with a puck,” I suggest.
He takes the puck and then stick handles it better than any kid on the ice. When his hour is over, I call him over and ask him to stay on the ice again with the older kids, and he stands out even with kids who are ten. After three hours, we skate off the ice, and I expect him to complain that he’s tired, but instead, he grabs a water and then looks at me as he takes off his helmet. His blond hair is stuck on his head from sweat. “Are we going to do that every day?” he asks as he drinks the water.
“I can make it happen if you want.” I smile at him, and he just nods and walks back to his locker room. I follow him since he was left back on the ice, and I didn’t know where his group was. I sit down with him while he takes off his equipment, and his elbow pads are too small for him. His shin pads don’t fit properly, and don’t even get me started on the chest protector. He puts everything in the bag and then grabs the shorts and the T-shirt. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” he says, and I get up from the bench. “Follow me. I have to change my skates, and then we can get some grub.” I turn to walk out of the locker room and run smack into Amy.
“I was looking for you,” she says, and I just turn to walk toward the locker room where my shoes are. “I was thinking we can sit together at lunch and go over a couple of things.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m having lunch with Dylan, but you can bring what you want to talk about,” I say and walk into the locker room. Dylan sits on the bench next to me, swinging his legs. “You can meet us up there.”
“Okay, yeah sure, or if anything, we can do it over dinner.”
I know what she’s doing. “Lunch will be good, Amy,” I say, and she just nods and walks out. I put on my sneakers, and we head up the stairs to the food. There are a couple of kids at the table, and some are watching the other kids play hockey from the viewing windows overlooking the rink. I grab a tray for myself and one for Dylan. “What do you want to eat?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you like veggies?”
“No,” he says and then looks at me, “but my mom said I have to eat them to grow.” I try to hide my smile.
“Your mother is right. My mom used to make broccoli every single night,” I say, and he looks at me in shock. “I used to give it to the dog. Don’t tell anyone.”
“We don’t have a dog,” he says, and I grab a plate of chicken and pasta and put it on his tray. “I love pasta.”
“Me, too.” I grab my own plate and walk over to an empty table. He sits down, and I don’t know if I should cut the chicken for him or not. “You need help?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head. The chair beside me pulls out, and Amy sits down.
“If you want, I can find his team coach and take him to them,” she says. I look over at Dylan, who isn’t even listening while he tries to cut his chicken after giving up eating his pasta.
“It’s fine,” I say, leaning over and cutting his chicken, and he just nods as he puts a piece in his mouth. Amy goes over the things happening this week and lets me know that a couple of my teammates will be coming by on Wednesday to get on the ice with me for a couple of hours.
I look over at Dylan who finished his whole plate and is now drinking the apple juice that I put down for him. “Can I go watch?” he asks of the game taking place in one of the rinks. About five other kids are standing over there to watch, so I just nod.
“I can call and see if my brother and my brothers-in-law want to come and lend a hand,” I suggest, and Amy nods. The bell rings somewhere, and the kids look around. One of the coaches claps his hands and tells all the kids to go into their locker room for the second part of the day.
I finish my lunch and then walk back to the locker room, taking my phone out and sending a group text to Matthew, Max, Viktor, and Evan.
Me: Do you old men want to get on the ice in a couple of weeks? I can get some canes to help you out.
Before I have a chance to put the phone back into my pocket, Evan answers me.
Evan: M&M are dinosaurs. Can they even skate?
I laugh. When Evan started dating Zara, he gave Matthew and Max that nickname, and it’s stuck ever since. Forget the fact that they hated each other when they first met, but then Max eloped with our sister, Allison, something that Matthew refuses to let him forget. But now they are both working for the Stingers organization.
Not bothering to answer, I tie my skates and get on the ice with the older kids. This is why I do this; the kids are so good. There is one kid, in particular, who flies on the ice. His hands are the best I’ve ever seen, and he has hockey sense.
I blow the whistle, and they come over to me. “How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask the five kids who are huffing, trying to get their breathing under control.
Everyone says since they were six except the kids with the hands. “Two years,” he says. I look at him and make a mental note to ask him more questions after.
The time flies, and by the time I look around, it’s five o’clock, and I get off the ice. Taking off all my stuff, I change into shorts and a shirt. I grab my phone and see that I have forty missed texts and shake my head, laughing as I read through them.
Matthew: Who you calling old? Max is older than I am.
Max: I’m like fine wine; I get better with age.
Matthew: I just threw up in my mouth.
Viktor: I’m in.
Evan: We should just have the family vacation there instead of up north.
Max: That sounds good to me. I’ll mention it to Allison.
Matthew: The sister you stole.
I laugh at the back and forth, and I’m about to answer when I see Dylan sitting on the step facing the front door.
“Hey there,” I say, putting my phone away. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’m waiting for my mom,” he says, trying to blink away tears. I sit next to him.
“Mind if I wait with you?” I ask, and he just shrugs. “Do you want to call your mom?” I take out my phone when he nods.
I give him my phone, and he takes it and dials her number. She must answer right away.
“Mom,” he says softly, and she must be telling him something. “Okay,” he says. “I will.” He hands me back the phone. “She’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“I really like it,” he says and then looks at me. “I like the ice the best,” he says, and I just nod at him.
“But in order to be faster on the ice, you need to do lots of stuff in the gym,” I say. “When I was your age, all I wanted to do was be on the ice, but my father forced me to go to the gym and made me use a jump rope.” I lean in to him. “I hated it,” I whisper, and he smiles and laughs.
“Did you do it?” he asks, and I nod.
“I had no choice. He wouldn’t let me on the ice unless I did it.” I see a car pulling up, and a woman climbs out of the back seat. She runs into the arena and looks around, the fear all on her face. You can see that she has been crying; her eyes and the tip of her nose are red.
“Mommy.” Dylan calls her name, and she runs over, her eyes looking at him and then at me. She looks a little shocked I’m still here.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, taking Dylan into her arms. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. She kisses his head and then leans back and takes his face in her hands. “Did you have fun?” She tries to hide the tears in her eyes.
“I was on the ice a lot,” he says, and then she looks over at me.
“I’m so sorry. My car died, and I had to get an Uber, and there was traffic,” she says and then gets up. “Thank you so much for sitting with him.”
“Not a problem, Caroline,” I say, and my heart starts to beat a bit faster. I want to pull her in for a hug, but instead, I put my hand in my pocket.
“Let’s go, buddy,” she says. Bending down and grabbing his camp bag, she puts it over one shoulder and then picks up the bag with the equipment.
“Do you want me to carry that?” I ask, and when she smiles at me, I see that the smile never reaches her eyes.