“I’ll be around if you need me,” she says and smiles as she walks out of the room. I listen to her heels click on the floor as she walks down the marble hallway toward the door, then hear a soft click when she leaves. I make my way out of the office and grab my pre-workout shake prepared by my chef. All I have to do is put it in the blender. I walk past the library and dining room toward the kitchen at the end of the hall. Opening the fridge, I take out the shake and put it in the blender. Once it’s finished, I turn around and walk out of the sliding door onto the terrace. I got this apartment five years ago when I got traded to New York. Besides the perfect location, the corner two-story penthouse has a wraparound terrace on both levels. I drink the shake while I look out at the calmness of the water. It’s still warm for New York, but in just a couple of weeks, the leaves will be changing, and fall will be here. And with that, the hockey season begins.

I think to how it all started, how at ten I asked my father if I could play hockey instead of indoor soccer. His face was filled with surprise, and I expected him to say no because we really didn’t sit down and watch hockey. We were more soccer people. World Cup fever would hit, and as much as my father had pride in his country of Greece, we all wore the Italian jersey with pride.

I didn’t even know how to skate. I couldn’t skate backward, and in order to stop, I usually just crashed into the boards. I shake my head, laughing at the memories of my first tryouts. I was so happy I didn’t give a shit. My father bought all my equipment secondhand, but I got out there and played my heart out. When the goalie showed up for one game and then came down with the stomach flu while getting dressed, I was the one closest to his size, so they put me in his gear and put me in nets. I was made for it. When I turned sixteen, Tri-City Americans scouted me, and three years later, I was drafted. I played for Nashville for four years before finally being traded to New York, and I’ve been here ever since.

After finishing my shake, I get up and go back into the kitchen. Putting the cup in the dishwasher, I make my way upstairs to my bedroom. My phone rings, and I see it’s my dad.

“Hey, Dad,” I say to him with a smile.