First Chapter: Snowballed
Noah
“With the eighth pick of the NHL Draft, Vancouver selects Adam Goodwin of the Arizona State Sun Devils hockey program.”
Okay, it’s showtime. Stand. Smile. Look happy, no—happier. If only my lips weren’t sticking to my teeth. There are cameras everywhere. Not only the sports networks, but everyone’s phones. All they need is one photo of me, not looking completely delighted that my little bro just went in the top ten and I’m toast. People love drama and jealousy.
And besides, I am happy. Adam worked his ass off, and he deserves this. I watch him envelop our tiny mother in a hug, and then get an embrace and whispered words from our dad. The expression on Dad’s face does me in. He looks delighted… and relieved. He must be thinking, finally a son who made it to the NHL. Like I was supposed to do. My stomach clenches, but I push down the reaction—stay mentally strong.
Adam shuffles his way towards the aisle, hugging our sister Chi who makes him laugh, then me.
He bends to whisper in my ear, “Couldn’t have done it without you, Noah.”
“I know. Who helped you pad your stats this season?” I reply. Since I’m 22 and he’s 18, this past season was the first time we’ve ever played on the same team. We both had our best seasons ever, but only Adam’s counts. Again I swallow down the bitterness that I really don’t want to feel. He’s my little brother, for fuck’s sake.
Adam grins, then heads down towards the stage. He sheds his suit jacket on the way. When he gets to the stage, he shakes hands with the Vancouver management team, then pulls on the brand new jersey and team ball cap. When he faces the crowd, his smile is blinding.
How many times have I imagined this exact moment: getting chosen by an NHL team, pulling on the jersey, and making my family proud? I must have sighed because Chi squeezes my hand. Time to put my game face back on—hey, you don’t become team poker champion without learning to hide your emotions.
“Excuse me.” An attractive young woman with auburn hair and a French-Canadian accent taps me on the shoulder. I look up and smile. But she doesn’t even see me. She’s trying to get my parents’ attention. She leans over me, sticking her rounded ass in my face like I’m nothing more than furniture.
“Gary? Candy? Could you come with me for an interview with your son?”
My parents rise. I move out of the way so they can follow the woman down to the TV set-up. My father straightens his tie, his face a portrait in pride and joy. My mother doesn’t primp at all, since she already looks perfect. You have to get up pretty early to catch a former figure skater without camera-ready hair and makeup.
“Usually they only interview the fathers,” Chi points out to me. “As if the mothers did nothing.”
I shrug. Sure, I’ve played with guys whose mothers did all the driving to practices and tourneys, but our dad coached all three of us. Besides, the draft is a tedious day with seconds of excitement followed by minutes of boredom. Who could resist an interview with ice royalty: a former NHL defenseman and an Olympic figure skating champion?
Chi holds up her phone. “Want to watch the interview?”
“No,” I reply childishly. Naturally, moments later I’m wearing one of her AirPods with a screen shoved in my face.
“We’re so pleased to welcome our latest draft pick, Adam Goodwin, and his parents—former NHL defenseman, Gary Goodwin, and Olympic gold medalist, Candy Sugimoto. Well, Gary and Candy, you must be so proud of your son.”
I tune out. I know exactly what will happen next: my father will link hard work and training to Adam’s success and slip in the name of his hockey academy in SoCal. My mother will be charming and razor smart, as befits her current job as a powerhouse sports agent. And Adam will say something goofy and hilarious. He’s the fun one in our family. Chi’s the smart one. And I’m the serious, responsible one—like oldest siblings everywhere.
But right now, the last thing I want to be is responsible. I want to throw a tantrum like a three-year old. I want to pound my fists and feet on the ground and scream out, “Why is life so fucking unfair?” Well, maybe a toddler wouldn’t use that language. The big Montreal arena feels hot and oppressive. I can’t breathe, and there’s sweat trickling down my back.
“I’m taking off,” I tell Chi.
Her eyes widen. “Now?”
“Yeah. Adam’s drafted now. We don’t have to keep hanging out here.” I glance at Dad and Adam’s empty seats. Nobody will even notice I’m gone.
“I’m coming too.” Chi jumps up, and we both make our way out of the arena. “I’ll text Mom that we’ll meet them back at the hotel.”
Chi is the consummate diplomat, covering my hissy fit so that nobody will lose face. But damn, I want to rebel, even if it’s in a small way. There’s so much frustration in me right now and nowhere to direct it. It’s nobody’s fault that I’ll never get a shot at the NHL. Unless I blame my petite Japanese mother for passing on her height genes. My whole life, all I’ve heard is that I’m too short for a defenseman. Maybe that’s bullshit, because there have been other 5’9” defensemen in the League. Not many, but it’s not impossible. What I know beyond a doubt is that if I were 6’3”, I would have been drafted. Not in the first round like Adam, but some team would have taken a chance on me. I’ve got the skating skills, I’ve got the hockey smarts, and I have the family pedigree.
The Bell Centre is like a rat maze with exits blocked everywhere. As we’re making our way out, someone calls my name.
I turn, and it’s Bart Keller, coach of the Burlington University hockey team. He’d tried to recruit me before I entered college, and he’s the only coach who has kept in touch since then.
“Noah. Good to see you.” He shakes my hand.
“Coach Keller. What are you doing here?” He’s a fit middle-aged man with graying hair and stern expression. Rumor has it that he’s tough but fair.
“It’s a short drive from Burlington,” he says. “I’m here to support a few guys from the team who are in the draft. Also talk to some new guys.”
In other words, recruiting. Probably talking to families with younger siblings, since all the draft year players would already be committed to teams.
Chi nudges me, and I introduce her to Coach Keller.
“Oh, I know you of course,” he says. “You’re on the national team radar.”
She tries not to smile. Chi’s big dream is to make the U.S. women’s hockey team, and while she’s been close, it hasn’t happened yet. Adam’s a winner, but Chi and I are runners-up—that’s what my dad would say anyway. But at least Chi still has a chance.
“Where are you headed?” he asks us.
“Just back to the hotel,” I say.
“Maybe a little shopping,” Chi adds, because there are many stores on our walk back, and she loves the stylish Montreal boutiques.
“Got time for coffee and a chat?” he asks me.
I look over at Chi, and she nods. “I’ll be fine. See you at the hotel.”
Coach Keller leads the way to a nearby coffee shop. He gets a coffee, but I get a water. Even though it’s summer, I’m still in training. The only seat for two is by the front window where we get to watch the parade of humanity walk by.
“Pretty big day for your brother,” he says.
“Yeah. Adam’s worked hard. He deserves it.” It’s my automatic answer, but it sounds fake as it comes out. Who knows better than a college hockey coach that hard work doesn’t always bring results? Because I’ve worked my ass off my whole life and kept my focus on hockey. Some guys call me robotic behind my back because I’m so dedicated. But what has all that hard work achieved? Here I am—the brother of a guy who got drafted.
Coach is watching me. He’s a smart guy, but I hope he doesn’t perceive my toxic mix of emotions. I love Adam, and feeling jealousy and resentment burns my guts.
“Let me get right down to it,” Coach says. “We talked about you coming to Burlington to play your final year of Div 1 hockey. I know it’s late, but my offer is still open. You’re doing grad studies in education, and we’ve got an excellent program. Besides, it’s a chance for a fresh start, playing hockey in a place where hockey is king. Not like those sunbelt markets.”
I wince because that’s true. At Arizona State, we get good crowds, but we’re new and an anomaly. When our team goes on the road, I get to see what real college hockey fanatics are like. But Coach Keller’s offer is ridiculous. I’ve played at Arizona State my whole college career. My dad flies in to see games once or twice a month, and he’s good friends with the coach. My future is already set. I’m going to finish my hockey career, get my education degree, and start working at my dad’s hockey academy. The only acceptable detour would be playing hockey in Europe.
Coach keeps talking. “I could really use a guy like you, a mobile defenseman who can score. And you’ve got excellent leadership and teaching skills too, I’ve got some young guys who would really benefit from playing with you.”
There’s still no way, but his flattery is nice to hear. It’s been a long time since anyone said that they needed my hockey skills. Sure, my coach and teammates in Arizona appreciate me, but I’m so reliable that I get taken for granted.
The sales pitch continues. “No disrespect, but for your last year of college hockey, wouldn’t it be nice to play on a team that has a chance to get to the Frozen Four? We won two years ago. And we’ve still got some of those players.”
That’s true. ASU is still developing. In fact, even my dad wondered if I’d show better in a top hockey school. But since he works hard to develop hockey in new markets, the Arizona program fits with that vision. Being close, my dad could be more hands-on with my career and Adam’s.
As if reading my mind, Coach Keller adds, “Burlington is a chance to be your own man.”
He doesn’t even mention my father, but we both know. When your father is a legendary NHL defenseman, everything you do gets you compared to him. And so far, I’ve come up short.
There’s a brief silence as we watch the crowd and sip our drinks. This is a ridiculous offer. Why on earth would I change my plans at the last minute and travel completely across the country to play one year of hockey? Vermont is as far as I could get from my home in Los Angeles without leaving the country. I know no one there, and I know zero about the university. It’s insane.
Yet something inside me stirs. The idea of being far from family pressure and expectation shimmers like a restful oasis.
“Okay, I’ll come to Burlington,” I say. The words sit in space for a moment like neither of us can believe them.
“Really?” Even Coach Keller looks shocked at his success.
“Yeah. I want a change.” For some reason, I trust him. This offer feels good to me. Lots of coaches tried to recruit me out of high school, but he’s the only one who suggested a transfer when he heard I was doing grad school.
He grins. His smile looks a bit rusty. like he doesn’t use it much. He’s going to be a tough coach, but that’s fine. He pulls out his phone and makes a few notes. “That’s great. I’ll contact the Master of Education program, get all the paperwork done, and send it to you. And I’ll let the team know the good news.” He’s smart, setting things in motion right away so that I can’t weasel out. But I won’t. For the first time today, I feel like I can breathe.
The coach shakes my hand. “Well, I better get back, make sure I don’t miss any of my players.”
He leaves, and I watch his quick stride as he goes back to the arena. Back to recruit and strengthen his team—my new team now, the Burlington Bulls.
As I’m walking back to the hotel, I see Chi ahead of me. She’s already got two shopping bags. I speed up and catch her at a red light.
“Hey, Noah.” She holds up the bags. “I got the cutest shoes. And two summer tops. I love the boutiques here.”
“Is there any place on earth you don’t love shopping?” I tease her. I feel so good, floating and free.
“True dat,” Chi agrees. “So, what did that coach want?”
“He asked me to transfer to Burlington for my grad year. To play hockey there.”
“Can you even do that? I thought you had to redshirt one season if you changed colleges.” Chi is in the women’s hockey program at ASU too.
“You can do it if you’re going to grad school,” I explain.
“Poor guy. What did he say when you turned him down?” She’s not really paying attention to our conversation because there’s a window display calling out to her.
“I didn’t say no.”
Chi points to a mannequin. “Do you think that color would look good on—wait, what did you say?”
Now I have her attention. “I told him I’d go to Burlington.”
Her eyes and her mouth go round. “What? Why would you do that?”
“I feel like I need a change.” My explanation sounds lame, but it’s all I have. I can’t explain why—for the first time in my life—I’ve made a decision on intuition. Instead of weighing the pros and cons like a judge and getting opinions and approvals, I just did something that felt right. Yeah, it’s completely out of character. I’m the last person to be spontaneous.
Chi stares at me in astonishment. We’re in the lobby of the Hotel Germaine now. It’s a classy hotel—my mother likes to travel first class. The staff smoothly greets us in English and French.
We get into the elevator, and Chi sighs. “You know that Dad is not going to be happy, right?”
I swallow. Suddenly, all the consequences of my decision rise before me: the logistics of moving to Vermont, establishing myself on a new team, and my parents’ reactions. My good vibes burst like a pricked balloon.
* * *
Chi turns out to be wrong. Dad is more than unhappy. He is incandescently furious.
I wait until after our celebratory dinner at some high-end restaurant. Until after Adam takes off to meet up with some hockey buddies, all of them excited because the drinking age is eighteen in Montreal. Until after Chi has a chance to disappear into her room. Then I deliver my news in my parents’ suite.
At first, my dad only stares at me. Then I notice the flush of color moving up his neck. Oh shit.
“Are you out of your mind?” he asks. “Why would you give up on your college hockey career to move to the middle of nowhere on a team you know nothing about?”
When he’s mad, he can’t sit still. He rises to his full 6’4”.
During his playing days, my dad was a feared defenseman. He wasn’t a fighter, but he had an unpredictable mean streak. He would crosscheck, spear, and hack at any opponent who tried to set up in front of his net. Meanness is a quality I lack, as my father has pointed out many times.
That meanness is radiating from him now. He paces the room in pissed off silence. Then he returns to loom over me.
“After everything I’ve done for your hockey career, you’re leaving? Arizona needs you. What’s Andy going to do without his best d-man back there?”
“It’ll mean more playing time for guys like Heely and Binder, or maybe some of the freshmen,” I say. College hockey is like that; the roster changes every year as guys come and go. The team will miss Adam a lot more than me.
“What about my connections? I can still get guys out to see you play. It’s your last chance to get interest from NHL clubs.”
“That train left the station a long time ago.” Damn it, why do we have to keep going over this? Late-developing college players sign with teams after graduating, but I’ve never had an offer. Yet my father keeps insisting that the next season will be different. “Look, Dad, Adam’s been drafted now. Can’t you just be happy that you’ve got one son who’s going to play in the NHL?”
“You could still play pro hockey. Start in the ECHL and work your way up,” he says. But how often does that happen? Maybe a handful of players ever made it through the ECHL to the AHL and then up to the NHL. Besides, the ECHL is a brutal league. As a solid but undersized defenseman, I’d get hit a lot. And the ECHL means fights, and I’m not a fighter.
“Noah.” My mother’s voice is calm. She leaves the hockey stuff to my dad. “This seems like a very unconsidered decision on your part. What’s their grad school like?” School is important to her. She’s the one who encouraged me to go to graduate school when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after my arts degree. My dad is the one who saw grad school as one more kick at the hockey can.
“It’s good. The Masters of Education will give me a chance to do specialized studies in sports instruction.” I’d looked over the curriculum when Coach Keller first contacted me last spring, and it’s a decent one. At least as good as the one at Arizona State. Besides, college athletes already have a full plate without adding tough course loads.
My mother shakes her head. “You haven’t even looked into accommodations in Vermont. You and Adam were supposed to share our townhouse next year. This decision is going to cause a lot of extra work for me.”
My parents bought the Tempe duplex as an investment and a way to solve our housing issues. Adam and I lived together on one side of a duplex last year, while Chi and two friends lived in the other. However, if Adam makes it to the NHL and doesn’t need to live in Arizona, nobody will be complaining about the extra work.
“I don’t think it’ll be hard to rent out,” I say.
My dad slams his hand down on the table, and a potted orchid jumps.
“I won’t let you mess up your life like this!”
“Gary,” my mother cautions him.
“I’m an adult now,” I remind him although I feel about twelve years old. It’s usually Chi and Adam who mess up and get the angry lectures—never me.
“You’re spoiled,” my dad declares. “You shrug off the townhouse like it’s no big deal. Everything’s come too easy to you.”
I shake my head. That’s not true. I was more than happy to find my own housing, but my parents were the ones who insisted their kids have “safe, comfortable” places to live.
My father crosses his arms. He’s going to deliver a verbal blow, and I brace myself.
“Okay, hot shot. If you’re so determined to strike your own path, do it. But you’re cut off. No more allowance, no car, no credit cards. We’ll see how far you get on your own.”