Page 14 of Cross Check

“That I make an effort to know basic facts about you that a simple Wikipedia search would tell me? Maybe. But I’m not going to ask what middle school you went to or the name of your childhood pet. That requires too much digging. I have hockey to play, Amelia.”

“Marmalade.” My lips twitch. Being unashamed with his sleuthing is endearing. “She was a golden retriever, and she lived until she was sixteen.”

“Rest in peace to a real one.” Grant kisses his fingers and points to the sky. I burst out laughing. “I’ll have a drink in Marmalade’s honor tonight.”

“Thanks for the condolences ten years later. As far as my coaching history, I got an assistant offer from an ECHL team after two years with Wisconsin. Spent a year there before I went to the AHL for a few seasons. When the job in Denver opened up, I applied. It’s been a journey. I’ve worked damn hard to get here, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come.”

“I’ll say. You’re a legend, Green. It’s cool to see the impact you’re having.”

I almost trip when I glance his way. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Emmy, women and young girls are coming to games. They’re wearing jerseys and picking up the sport. I hope we see more women in the NHL—not just in office positions, but on the ice. It would be great if we could diversify the sport too.” His laugh is rich. “Think the rosters have enough straight, white dudes on them. It would be cool to bridge a connection with marginalized communities to make them feel like they have a place in the league too.”

The more he talks, the more I’m aware of the way my heart hammers, and I slow my pace in an attempt to steady myself.

“You really mean that, don’t you?” I ask.

“Uh, yeah?” His gaze meets mine. “Seems like wanting to make the sport more welcoming is the bare minimum.”

“I want to start a camp,” I find myself saying, “for girls who love hockey. A week-long program for all skating abilities and playing experiences. The NHL is a boys’ league, but it doesn’t have to be. And with all this news about the PWHL starting in the next couple of years, I want to do what I can to empower the players of tomorrow. Emmy is the first, and I hope she’s not the last.” We pass the Washington Monument, and I pause. “I’m making this about me, aren’t I?”

“You’re talking about what you’re passionate about. That’s not making things about you. I like listening, and it’s important stuff.”

“How’s the season going?” I check our pace on my watch, surprised by how quickly a mile passes. “Any February blues?”

“Not for me. I’m much more comfortable in my role than I was last year as a rookie. We have a team dinner every week, and we also started a book club. We read romance novels then talk about them, and it’s a lot of fun. A nice way to unwind, you know?” Grant moves to the right to avoid getting hit by a kid on a skateboard, and his arm brushes against mine. “What do you do to relax? Coaching is probably super stressful.”

“I like to drink wine with my best friends back in Denver, and eat the desserts I suck at making. My brownies never come out right, but at the end of the day, they still taste delicious.”

“You sound like Hudson, our defenseman. He loves food. Sweets in particular.”

“Hayes. I remember him missing our matchup last season for personal reasons.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Grant wipes his hand on his athletic shorts that hit his mid-thigh. “His mom passed away a few years ago. It was the anniversary of her death, and he flew home to Georgia to spend time with his dad.”

“Shit. I had no idea,” I whisper.

“Most people don’t. That’s Huddy for you. Always taking care of everyone else without letting anyone take care of him.”

“How devastating. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s sad, but it’s a reminder that we’re human, you know? Like, yeah, how we play is important, but we’re going to lose loved ones and go through breakups and struggle with our mental health, just like everyone else. And those things are allowed.”

“That’s a great point. My dad and I used to watch hockey together when I was younger, and I fawned over all of the great players of the nineties and early two-thousands. Forsberg, Claude Lemieux, Oates. God, Jarome Iginla was fun to watch.” I peel my hair away from where it’s sticking to my neck. “I thought those guys were untouchable. They were superstars. Then I started playing. When I got to college, I had to balance being a student-athlete with my personal life. I struggled on tests. I lost friends, and now I see it every day when I’m coaching: You all aren’t superheroes immune to the perils of humanity. You’re heroes who are super, but you suffer like the rest of us. We’re all out here trying our best.”

“It’s only getting worse with social media,” Grant says. “People have opinions about things they wouldn’t say to someone’s face, and it’s annoying as hell.”

“That’s so true.” I smile at him. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

“I love to talk. Never know when to shut up, actually. So feel free to stop me at any time.” He leads us to the left, and I follow. “Do you have any plans the rest of the day? You caught us during a warm snap. Last week was freezing.”

“I might go to one of the museums. The other coaches and I are meeting for dinner tonight, but that’s not until eight.”

“Damn. By eight I’m getting ready for bed.”

“I thought you said you were twenty-two.” I put my hand on my hip. “You aren’t out partying until sunrise?”

“Sunrise? My god. I’d cry.” He checks his watch. “Are you hungry? It’s lunchtime.”