~Ben~~April~

The playoffs start in two days. We ranked third in the Eastern Conference which means that we got a free pass to the playoffs. Both the players and the managing team were very happy about the results we obtained during the regular season, but nothing is certain at this point. The playoffs could be compared to war: it's a battle of every instant where every minute of every game matters. I consider myself very lucky to have the chance to participate in the playoffs during my first season as an NHL player.

Playoff season is also the time where coaches and general managers start looking for new players for their set-up for next year's season. It means that, even if I signed a two-year-contract with the Islanders, another team could make me an offer to buy me out of my contract. Even if I would love to stay with my team next year, not getting any offers would mean that I didn't make an impression and that my chances to get drafted next year could be low. Connor told me he would do his best to get me offers, but I don't know how much I can count on him. He did well when we negotiated this contract, but he has never done this before, and it stresses me out. In fact, everything pretty much stresses me out.

Since my conversation with my father, my self-esteem took a boost. I still feel the need to perform but I don't feel the need to prove to my father that I made the right choice by choosing hockey. I want to perform for myself and for my team because winning feels so damn good. And I have been winning in every aspect of my life. I never felt so at peace with my job and my relationship with Eleanor has never been better. I would say we are back to the way we were before all of this happened, but I don't think it would be 100% true. We are stronger than ever before, and it shows on an everyday basis. We both encourage each other in our respective jobs, and we take care of Ophelia equally. It's going so well that Eleanor decided not to renew her lease back in January and has been living with me in the house full-time. Even if it was pretty much the case beforehand, it still felt great to know she would be with me every morning when I wake up.

We are on a roll: The Islanders have been kicking ass since we came back from the Christmas break and Nathan and I can take responsibility for most of it, and Eleanor is meeting with her editor about her newest book right now. I am on my way to the arena after dropping off Ophelia at daycare, and I can't hide the smile on my face. This morning, Eleanor received an e-mail from a publishing company in Los Angeles telling her that they would be thrilled to publish whatever she writes next. She didn't even send them her newest book; they loved The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife that much. Of course, she doesn't intend on taking their offer, but it's still pleasant to know you are getting the recognition you deserve. And me? I just got offered a new sponsorship. McDonald's new campaign is about friendship at work, they even suggest that you apply with a friend, and they would like Nathan and I to personify this concept. We will be filmed on and off the ice as we grab a meal at McDonald's after a practice. Of course, the concept is illogic. No one, in their right mind, would go to McDonald's after a practice as intense as ours, but it's the thought that counts, right? This ad will be shown all around New York, including Times Square. We are supposed to start filming this afternoon after our regular practice. On another positive note, the coaches haven't asked me for a blood or urine test since the first article about me popped in the newspaper. They now have trust that I add value to this team, and they know that they're not giving me a favor by keeping me on.

The second I step into the locker rooms; Nathan grabs my arm. "Did you see that?" he asks as he throws a newspaper at me. I shake my head, bending down to grab the newspaper that fell on the floor. On the front page of the sports' section is written in big letters: Could Benji Johnson and Nathan Finley give The Islanders their first Stanley Cup since '83? For a moment, I can't say anything. I look at Nathan and then back at the article to read the first few lines.

Nobody can deny it, the stars of the New York hockey scene this year have been Nathan Finley and Benjamin "Benji" Johnson. They pull up one trick after the other, leaving the opposite players wishing they had stayed on the bench – or worse – at home.

"All of this cause your girl spoke to my wife after the first game, crazy huh?" He's right. We only started speaking at practice because we knew our girlfriends would make us spend time with each other. Look at us now.

"So crazy..." I am still speechless; all I can do is repeat the words he's saying. They called us "the stars of the New York hockey scene" for god's sake, I think it's normal for a man to be flabbergasted. I don't have the chance to answer him properly; the coach interrupts us with his usual pre-practice speech.

We give the practice our all: we have a reputation to maintain after all. The fact that people are chanting our names when one of us has the puck is another source of motivation. Twice, the coach had to ask for silence. I won't lie and say that Nathan and I didn't share glances when he had to ask again. I used to hate public practices, but, now, I am growing to love them. Nathan and I navigate through the crowd that's waiting for us outside the arena after the practice with grace. We gladly take pictures and sign autographs as we answer a few questions. As we are about to go our separate ways, near our cars, I grab his shoulder to get his attention.

"You know what? Next interview, we should give them credit." He scrunches his brows, not understanding where I am going with this. "Eleanor and Tracy, we should give them credit for us doing what we do."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's do that." We shake hands and get in our cars. I text Eleanor to ask if she is still in her meeting.

After ten minutes without an answer, I decide to assume that she is and head for the daycare to pick up Ophelia. I text Eleanor to tell her I picked our daughter up, so she doesn't make the trip for nothing. Seeing Oph's face when she sees me walk into the room always makes me smile. She always walks up to us as quickly as she can, opening her arms to give us a hug. I don't think I'll ever get enough of those moments where it's clear in my daughter's eyes that she's happy to see me. After conversing with Nadine about Ophelia's day, we leave the daycare. Before heading home, I make a stop at the store to buy a few things we need. Ophelia smiles at everyone who smiles at her, making only one weird face at a guy whose expression she didn't like. A few people look at us weirdly in the baby section when I walk through the diaper aisle. I probably do look stupid as I try to hold two boxes of diapers in my hands. I don't remember if we moved on from size three to size four yet, so I compare both boxes. I don't want to call Eleanor and disturb her in her meeting, and I am perfectly able to buy diapers on my own.

"How much do you weight?" I ask Ophelia who is too busy babbling the words "blue balloon" repeatedly to answer me.

"How old is she?" a voice behind me asks. I turn around, still holding both boxes, to find a woman, apparently in her thirties, carrying her own cart with a boy of about Ophelia's age in it. She's smiling at me fondly. I can't see any judgment in her eyes as she watches a twenty-one-year-old man wearing sports pants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap backwards compare diapers at Walmart.

"22 months," I say as I take another look at my daughter who added "baby dog" to the list of words she's repeating.

"At that age, mine wore size four, but yours seems smaller. Girls usually are. But since the charts are pretty much the same for both sizes, I'd go with the size four. Anyway, if you got it wrong, you can bring it back if the box isn't opened. It's Walmart, they aren't picky." And she winks. I throw the size four box in my cart and thank the woman. "You're welcomed. And you've got this, my husband wouldn't even know between what sizes to hesitate." She taps my shoulder with her hand before walking away, a size six Pampers Cruisers box in her cart.

We leave shortly after and I am happy to notice, when we get home, the almost empty size four box of diapers in Ophelia's room. I mentally pat myself on the back as I store the new box under the old one. I am cutting Ophelia grapes for her afternoon snack when Eleanor walks through the door. I yell an "hello" and get one right back. Eleanor soon storms into the kitchen, still taking off her high-heeled shoes. "Mama," Ophelia shouts, her mouth filled with grapes. Eleanor gives her a kiss on her head before bending down to give me one as well.

"How'd it go?" I ask, pulling her so she's sitting on my lap.

"Tell me about your day first." She reaches down to play with the hair at the nape of my neck, but her soft actions don't hide how crisp her smile looks. I hate when she does this. The last time, it was when Hannah dropped her bomb on her. Speaking of Hannah, I haven't heard from her in a while. I need to ask El about her.

"It was fine. Practice was great; Nathan and I are getting more popular every day. Oh, and I bought diapers and the other stuff we needed at Walmart. Do people look at you weird when you're with Oph or is it just me?" I hide the hesitating for what size to buy thing. I got it right, she doesn't need to know I needed help.

"People look at us weird cause we're young. Too young to have a child in their opinion. Especially if you looked like that." I look at my clothes with scrunched brows.

"I always dress like that after practice. What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing, they just make you look like a high school jock straight out of math class," she chuckles. I laugh too, she has a point; I do look younger when I wear caps backwards.

"Can you tell me about your day now or are you not done laughing at me?" Her smile disappears.

"Do you think you could get an offer from the Kings?" 

Ooohhh!!! why the Kings you think?