This Is Forever (This Is Series 4)

by Natasha Madison

  “Always her baby,” he says, and I nod. “Have a great day.”

  “You as well,” I say and turn to walk down the hallway while I hear some of the kids freaking out.

  “These are the newest skates on the market,” one of the kids says. “He has to mold my foot tomorrow.”

  “This hockey stick has the best flex,” another says, and I finally find Dylan in one of the locker rooms all by himself.

  “Hey there, did you get your stuff?” I ask, sitting on the bench and looking around.

  “Justin, look at the new skates I got,” he says, taking them out of his bag and holding them up to me. “The laces are so white.” He looks down, and his smile fills his face.

  “I saw. Did you try them on?” I ask. He comes to sit next to me and takes his running shoes off and puts his foot in one.

  “Will you help me tie them?” he asks, and I get up and stoop down in front of him. “Usually, Mom helps me.”

  “Does she tie them really tight?” I ask as I tighten the lace at the bottom.

  “Yeah,” he says and then looks at me. “But the other dads do it tighter. Don’t tell her.”

  I try not to laugh, and then my heart hurts for him to never have a father tie his skates. “I won’t tell her. My mom used to try also.”

  “Not your dad?” he asks, and I look at him, grabbing the other skate and putting it on him.

  “Yeah. Most of the time it was my dad, but sometimes when he had a meeting, it had to be my mom,” I say. “Sometimes, if I was really lucky, it would be my big brother.” I smile at him. “He used to come home and come to some of my games, and I would always try to score a goal for him.”

  “Did you score?” he asks, not even realizing that I finished tying his skates.

  “Most times,” I say. “What about you, do you score?”

  “Yeah,” he says, getting up. “I even got a trophy for most goals in the season,” he says. “I got five goals in one game,” he says, and I get up.

  “Wow, that’s better than me,” I say. “Walk and see how they feel,” I say. The bell rings, letting everyone know it’s time to get to your place.

  “They hurt my feet,” he says, and I nod at him.

  “That’s new skates for you. It’ll take a bit to get them worn in,” I say. “Let me go get my skates, and I’ll help you get ready for the ice.” I get up, and three kids come into the room who are older than Dylan.

  “Is this group four?” one of them asks.

  “Yes,” Dylan says, taking off his skates. I walk outside and find one of the trainers. Actually, he’s the one I picked myself. Ralph plays with me for Edmonton, and his contract is up next year. He is the best on the ice, and you can’t even try to deny it. Stats don’t lie and neither do the results once he hits the ice. He’s also known as the pretty boy on the ice, and one of the few defensemen who still has all his teeth.

  “Hey, Ralph,” I call him over. “Dylan Woods, he’s in there with kids who are twelve.”

  “Yeah. Did you see him on the ice?” he asks. There were five people in the stands evaluating the kids to make sure they were placed in the right level to help them get better.

  “That kid plays like a thirteen-year-old. He just doesn’t have the height,” Ralph says.

  “He’s eight,” I say. I knew he had it, but I had to have someone else say it so I knew I wasn’t playing favorites.

  “Yeah, well, the kid has it,” Ralph says. I walk away to the room to get my bag and wonder if I should go back to him or not. I grab my bag without thinking twice about it.

  Walking back into the room, I see he’s almost already dressed. He slips his jersey over his head and then steps into his skates again, and he looks up and sees the kids tying their own skates so he doesn’t say anything as he tries to tie his own skates. “You good?” I ask, and he looks at me while he tries to tighten it.

  “Here,” I say, putting my own skate on and showing him how I tie it. “You grab the one on the top and pull up.” I show him, and he ties it all the way to the top.

  “I did it,” he says happily and then gets up, doing the other one. He grabs his new helmet and puts his mouth guard in.

  “How did you get so good at skating?” I ask.

  “I use the outdoor rink,” he says. “When Mom is cleaning the rooms, she lets me skate outside.”

  “She cleans hotel rooms?” I ask, and he nods his head.

  “Not all the time, just on Saturday and Sunday,” he says. “I have to go with her because she doesn’t have anyone to watch me.”

  “She’s a good mom,” I say, my head swirling with the information he just told me. She works two jobs and doesn’t even have money to buy breakfast. I want to ask her all the questions, but who the fuck am I that she is going to answer me. I’m just some guy who took her to breakfast once.

  Dylan walks over to the wall and grabs his new stick. “I’m going to tape my new stick tonight,” he says, and I smile, grabbing my own helmet and following him on the ice.

  He gets on before me, and I’m expecting him to wobble a bit, but instead, he just glides on like he was born to be there. I get on after him and blow the whistle. “Two laps,” I say, twirling my fingers and then blow the whistle again and watch the kids take off. I stand in the middle with Ralph.

  “Doesn’t it make you laugh?” He starts to talk. “Some rich kids out there are paying two hundred dollars an hour for someone to train them, and they will never be as good as half of these kids.” I watch the kids go around in the circle, and I spot Dylan right away by the way he moves. “Look at that kid,” Ralph says, pointing at Dylan. “Look at the way he skates. He uses his whole body, which makes him even better.”

  “What about if you put a puck on his stick?” I ask, and he smiles at me.

  “My favorite part,” he says, going over and getting the pucks and throwing them on the ice. I watch as Dylan slides over and takes a puck with the back of his blade and then kicks it to the stick like it’s no big deal. He skates around and moves the puck right and left. The whole time, his head is up, and not once does he lose control of it. “His hands are better than the fifteen year olds. If this kid has the opportunity, he might beat your dad’s records.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “If you’re right, I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”

  For the rest of the practice, I watch Dylan closely, and every single time he’s given something to do or works on a drill, he just excels and pushes himself. When the hour is over, the kids skate to the bench and take a drink of water. “Okay, three-on-three game,” Ralph says. I watch as Dylan skates to center ice, and I stand back as he gets into position exactly like I do. He skates in a circle and then leans forward with his stick in his hands. He gets ready for the face-off, and he doesn’t look at the kid; he looks at Ralph who holds the puck in his hand. He leans in just a touch and drops the puck. Dylan ducks down, and his stick goes out winning the face-off.

  He skates past the kid, going straight to the puck, and there is only one kid on defense, so it’s almost like a one-on-one. He skates to the right and then to the left, and when he thinks the other kid is going back to the right, Dylan pulls his stick back and aims for the net, his puck hitting the back of the net. “I should have doubled the wager,” Ralph says, skating to go get the puck.

  “Hey, Justin, did you see that I scored?” Dylan says, skating to the bench and letting someone else take his place.

  “I did see it,” I say. “Smooth.”

  He just nods his head, smiling, while he takes a squirt of water. By the end of the game, he’s scored ten goals. He skates off the ice, and the only time I see him again is at the end of the day when he comes out of the locker room with his hair wet.

  “Hey, is my mom here?” he asks, looking around. I look toward the door and see her walking in. I smile, just thinking about her, but when she looks up, I see that she’s been crying. Her eyes look like they are bloodshot, and I look at Dylan, who sees her and runs to her.
She sees him and smiles at him, showing a brave face, and my heart can’t stop the hammering. It can’t stop even if I told it not to, even if I know she has the ability to shatter it.

  I don’t go to her. Instead, I watch how she buries whatever she is going through to smile at Dylan. “Did you have a good day?” she asks, opening her arms and kissing his head when he reaches around to hug her waist.

  “Yeah, we got all new stuff,” he says, and she looks up and finally sees me.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice coming out monotone. “Thank you so much for helping today,” she says, holding out the keys for the SUV. “And for the lunch.” She does a fake smile and then looks down at Dylan. “Let’s get going.”

  “How are you getting home?” I ask, and my stomach somehow burns with anger.

  She is about to answer me when Amy comes out, calling my name. “Justin.” She swaggers over, and I turn my head to look at her. “We are still on for tonight, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say and then my name is called again, this time by a parent who walks by, and when I turn back around, Dylan and Caroline are gone. I jog out to see if I see them, and I can’t spot them anywhere. I turn to walk back into the arena, and I’m almost run down by Malika, who isn’t looking up.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, and I can see that she is really upset.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, and she just looks around.

  “You are doing a good thing here,” she says. “The kids who come here, this is huge for them. And the parents, I can’t even begin to tell you how blown away the parents are. They aren’t freeloaders, and they deserve to not be judged.” I almost have to take a step back.

  “I would never judge anyone,” I say.

  “I know you don’t,” she says and then looks down and then up again. “But not everyone working for you does. I’ll see you tonight at seven,” she says and then walks away. I watch her walk away with more questions that I have to do, and I make a mental note to talk to her tonight after the meeting. I also take my phone out and call Caroline, and it goes directly to a generic message.

  The customer you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please call back.

  I hang up and text her right away.

  Me: Where did you go?

  I look down at my phone, expecting her to answer, but she doesn’t.

  “Hey,” Ralph says when he sees me looking down at my phone as I wait for Caroline to answer me. “Do you have a minute?” he asks me, looking around.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking at him and seeing he is unsure of whatever he has to say. “Let’s go into the office.” I lead the way into the offices and go inside one of the empty ones and close the door. “What’s up?”

  “Listen, I think what you are doing here is amazing,” he says, then he runs his hands through his hair. “You are giving these kids a chance to be something.” I just look at him. “All of us are here for one reason or another, but Amy”—he shakes his head—“I just can’t.”

  “What happened?” I ask him, my blood starting to boil.

  “A father just went up to her to hand her his new contact information, and she refused to take the paper from him because his hands were dirty.” He shakes his head. “She told him to put it down on her desk and she would take care of it. The way she jumped when he tried to hand it to her. Dude, it was …”

  “That is unacceptable,” I tell him. “This is my name. It’s the Justin Stone Foundation. If you work for me, you represent me, and she definitely does not represent me when she acts like that. What is wrong with her?”

  “That is a loaded question, and my mother told me to be kind to women,” Ralph says, laughing. “I just thought you would want to know.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, and he walks out of the room. Taking a seat, I look down at my phone, and I decide to go to her after the meeting.

  I walk into the meeting already tense and on pins and needles to get this show over. I sit at the head of the table, and my team sits around the table. Ralph is also there as well as Malika, who is taking notes.

  “One thing I was thinking of,” Malika starts to say, “is a weekend program.” Looking over at her, she continues, “Many of these parents work on the weekends, so we could have a free skate day on Saturday or a Sunday Family day.”

  I start to say something when I hear Amy pffts out, and all eyes go to her. “You don’t think maybe these parents are taking advantage of this program already? I mean, seriously some of them are taking advantage of the whole system. Get a job. That should help you get off food stamps,” she says, and I want to slam my hand down on the table. But instead, I rein it in and push away from the table.

  “Amy, I’d like to talk to you outside,” I tell her, and I’m already out in the hallway when she comes out with a huge smile on her face. I don’t think she realizes how angry I am. Is she that clueless? I don’t even beat around the bush. “Amy, we are going to have to let you go.”

  Her smile fades and in its place is the leer. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means that you’re fired,” I tell her. “It means that you take your stuff and don’t come back.”

  “But why?” she asks, trying to act as if she’s hurt by all this.

  “Well, just off the top of my head. You are rude and condescending and aren’t a nice person.” I take a deep breath. “What I’m doing here is helping the kids, and it’s helping the community. It’s called giving them a chance and not judging them. It’s called being a decent human being.”

  “This is bullshit.” She starts to throw a hissy fit, and as my sisters would say, a tantrum. “I have given this everything I have.” I swear she stomps her foot. “You can’t fire me.”

  “Oh, but I can,” I inform her, “and I just did. I started this foundation when I was nineteen years old. I saw my family do things like this when I was just a kid. My brother-in-law has the biggest foundation I’ve ever had the privilege of being a part of, and I want to have one just like him. I want people to have nothing but amazing things to say abut my foundation, and having you represent me and my foundation the way you have is not okay.”

  “This is not the end of me,” she says, pushing past me. Going into the office, she grabs her purse and then comes out. “You are firing me without cause. I’ll be contacting a lawyer.”

  “You do that,” I tell her, and she storms out. Putting my head down, I look at the phone in my hand with still no word from her. I walk back into the meeting, and I don’t even know what we discussed after that because the only thing on my mind was Caroline.

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline

  “I’m tired, Mom.” I hear from beside me as we sit on the bus, making our way home. To say that today has been a giant disappointment is the understatement of the year. “Are we almost there yet?” he asks, putting his head on my shoulder, and I just nod, looking outside.

  The two-hour commute has turned into almost three hours and counting since the first bus broke down, and then it took over thirty minutes to fix. “We should be home soon,” I say, trying to keep the defeat from my voice.

  When we are finally walking up the stairs, I’m ready to collapse on the couch. Opening the door, the heat hits you right away. The thickness of the humidity makes it hard for you to even breathe. “Why don’t you get in the shower, and I’ll start making dinner.”

  “Okay, Mom,” he says, dumping his new hockey bag by the door and walking into the bathroom. I walk over to the window in the corner and open it up, not sure if it is going to help. When I finally pull the thick wooden window up, a slight breeze comes in. Tying my hair up, I walk to the bedroom and strip out of my jeans, the thick envelope I got at the end of the day heavy in my back pocket. Taking it out, I open it and sit on the bed. Being summoned to the boss’s office fifteen minutes before the end of your shift never has a good outcome. Walking in and looking at him not making eye contact with you was a second alert. Starting the sentence with I’m so sorry was what cem
ented what I knew was coming. Hours have to be cut and the last one in usually takes the brunt of it. Even though I’d been there for over six months, I was the last one in.

  A tear escapes my eye, making it hard to stop the other tear that comes after. Putting my hands over my face, I let the disappointment run through me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Usually when something is running smoothly is when it turns to shit shortly after. I was finally able to see a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel but then with me getting fired and getting a two-week severance, the light is now covered in black. I have no idea what I’m going to do. I called Karla right away and asked her if she had more cleaning shifts at the motel, and even though I was almost begging, all she had was my regular weekend shifts. Tonight after Dylan goes to bed, I’ll take out all my papers and see how I will stretch this last check.

  The water turns off, and I tuck the letter and the jeans in the drawer and go over to the stove and start frying eggs. We have three eggs left, so I make two for Dylan and slip the last two slices of bread in the toaster. I would also have to go down to the church and see if I can get anything from their emergency fund. I open the fridge and go to grab a slice of cheese and realize I don’t have any left. Instead, I grab the small container of ham that I bought last week and take out a couple of pieces and fry it in the pan with the eggs. The bread pops up, and I grab the little bit of margarine I have left just as the bathroom door opens. “I’m done,” he says, coming out, and this time, all he’s wearing is his boxer briefs, knowing it’s too hot for anything else.

  “Just in time,” I say over my shoulder, grabbing a plate and putting his eggs on them and the ham, cutting the bread in half. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” he says, and I wait for him to eat before cracking open of the last eggs for myself. He looks up at me. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I had a big lunch,” I say, thinking of the lunch bag Justin left in the car. It was actually a chicken club sandwich with a bag of chips and even a drink. “Do you want more?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head. I turn back around and think about breakfast in the morning. Knowing I don’t have much left, I put the last egg in the fridge for him tomorrow.