Page 4 of Keeping Kyle

I took a deep breath to center myself. I could do this. I probably wouldn’t like it, but I’d get through it. Hockey Allies was a great organization. G wouldn’t get me into anything too ridiculous.

A group of players hung out to the side of the stage, and it only took me a moment to spot the instigator of this gig.

“G!” I called out as I approached.

“K!” Breaking away from the group of players, he came over. We did a quick fist bump and a longer hug. We hadn’t seen each other since G had played against us at home a few weeks back. While we texted and FaceTimed a lot, nothing beat actually seeing him. “So good to see you.”

“Good to see you, man. Looks like your friend put together quite the event.”

“And you haven’t seen half of it. They just got some of the rough stuff done so we could rehearse. The room will be fully transformed by tomorrow night. How’ve you been?”

“Good, man. Really working to make myself valuable to avoid the trade. I mean, I get that it will be whatever the team decides is best, but…”

“I know.” G clapped me on the back and guided me over to the rest of the guys. “You want to be one of those players who spends his career rooted in one spot. Seems harder to do these days with all concern about salary caps and random, wild trades and expansions. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” I jabbed at G’s ribs with my elbow, knowing exactly where his ticklish spot was.

“Hey…” He flinched and backed away. We traded smirks. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but get in a dose of realism. Not to mention, Mamma P wants you to know that it’s okay if you move.”

I groaned. “She’s talking to you about it?” She already had Bobby working on me.

“You know it.” He smiled and spoke softly. “She wants you happy and not worried about her.” Joining the group, he dropped that conversation. “Guys, you all know Kyle Pressgrove with Detroit.”

Fist bumps and hellos went all around. I knew them, of course, but none as well as I knew G.

And, wow. Layne Coleman was here.

My inner fanboy went into overtime and tamped down the urge to tell him what an inspiration he’d been. His smooth game play and sportsmanship inspired me, not to mention the fact that he still played.

“Okay, I think everybody’s here.” A guy’s voice boomed over the PA, and we all gathered around the extended catwalk to listen.

The details flew fast and furious. The auction would take place after the skills competition, and we had some time to get back and prepare before the event kicked off. After the final bid, the event would continue, allowing everyone to mingle and have time with the person who had won the bidding to arrange the dates.

That was the simple part.

How to not be awkward on the catwalk was another matter. How should I do it? A normal walk? Some semblance of sexy? Any attempt at that would end up looking ridiculous. Some sort of a dance to whatever the music was? A couple guys tried that, and it looked less than good. I enjoyed dancing, but there was a big difference between doing it in a club with friends and on a stage in front of a bunch of strangers.

I’d have to talk to Bobby about how he thought I should walk. He’d never let me look like an idiot. For rehearsal, I kept it simple. I had a few hours to figure out what to do to try and sell myself. The guy on the PA actually said that’s how we should consider it. The bidding would go on for as long as there were bids, and the MC wouldn’t drag it out very long if the bidding made it over a thousand dollars.

What if I couldn’t go for that much money? It’d be embarrassing to be the guy with the lowest bids or something where the auctioneer had to coax the amount up. I sent up a quick prayer that it wouldn’t happen. My self-confidence usually kept me grounded, but it would already be tested here—no need to stretch the boundaries any farther.

Rehearsal zipped by. Hopefully, the event would be the same. I still needed to try on my suit for the stylist, so I dropped into a chair at one of the tables and pulled out my phone to catch up on the text messages Bobby had been sending.

“Hey, Kyle, this looks like it’s gonna be quite something.” David Moore, one of the PR guys from the team, sat across from me. “I snapped a couple of pics, and I’ll toss them up on social media to show people how you’re representing for a good cause during the weekend.”

“You didn’t get anything too ridiculous, did you?” I ran my hand nervously through my hair. The glint in David’s eye temporarily gave me pause.

“Just you striking that pose, hand in pocket, at the end.” I suppressed a groan. That pose had felt ridiculous—I’d regretted it as soon as I did it—and now it’d live forever on Instagram. “Got a couple of you with some of the other players too. We’ll save the really juicy stuff for live auction posts.”

Did I know about that? Sometimes I didn’t pay as much attention to David as I probably should. “Serious?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here. I’ll post some pics. Maybe some live video. Depends on how the Wi-Fi is here. Want to make sure you get your fair share of the other media coverage too.”

Other media coverage. Great. Now I’d have to be even more careful to not be a spaz on stage.

“Oh, I didn’t know he’d be here.” David looked at a guy standing in the doorway of the ballroom.

“Should I know him?”