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I clean the kitchen, then as I’m leashing Donut to drop her off at doggie daycare, Aubrey pops back in, saying, “By the way, something came for you this morning.”
She gestures to a gift in the front hall.
A very large gift. Two, actually.
7
I’M JUST HERE FOR THE BALANCE
Rhys
I take a quick wrist shot, the puck whizzing past our goalie’s glove and into the net. Dev grumbles from behind his mask, “I let that in.”
“Are you sure about that?” I tease as I skate by our fiercely competitive goalie, sending a spray of ice in his direction.
Hollis takes his turn next, sprinting toward the net with determination. But Dev easily blocks Hollis’s shot with his leg pad.
It’s morning skate and it’s optional, especially since we had a game yesterday afternoon. But I’ve always taken the option since I’ve been with the Golden State Foxes.
We’re almost halfway into a long season, but it’s been a good season so far. I’m grateful to be on this team after being traded from New York a year and a half ago. My old team was going nowhere, and my personal life wasn’t much better. The two seem to move in tandem.
I shake off the memory of Samantha and her tricky ways, her multiple profiles, her stacks of lies. Here on the ice, all thoughts of that shitty year disappear. It’s just me and the game and the challenge as we move into passing drills. Gavin slides the puck to me, then I wing it over to him as we attack the net. He shuffles it back, and I take aim and slap one past Dev in the net once more.
“Just don’t forget to do that in a game,” Dev calls out.
Which, ouch.
Yes, I’d like to score more points when it matters. Who wouldn’t, really? But I’m acutely aware that I’m surrounded by great players here on this team. I’m not one of those great players. I’d like my stats to be better, my contributions stronger, my game time just…more.
We move through power-play practice, then deflections, then the clock unwinds, and we head to the tunnel. Hollis is right behind me, and Gavin too.
“Gonna hit the weights,” Gavin says, which is Gavin-speak for who’s in.
I’ll go later at my building. “Can’t,” I say, and they know why. But it feels…strange, maybe, to admit that after last night.
“Because you have yoga class,” Hollis singsongs.
That’s the problem with sticking to a regular schedule. Your mates know your whereabouts too well. “Yeah, I do,” I say, like saying it casually will make my attendance seem…casual.
“Well, you wouldn’t want to mess with a streak,” Gavin deadpans when we reach the hallway leading to the locker room.
And…touché.
“Exactly. My devotion to yoga is why we’re winning,” I say.
“Then, better not miss a class. Say hi to Briar for all of us,” Gavin adds.
“Give her our love,” Hollis says, batting his lashes.
My friends are such assholes. It was Gavin’s fucking idea to get her the gift. “Absolutely. I’m definitely going to talk to her about the two of you.”
“Knew it,” Gavin says, then tips his chin at Hollis. “Weight room?”
“And then fish tacos.”
“It’s not a game day,” Gavin points out, and the two of them argue about fish tacos and rituals the rest of the way.
When I’m out of my gear and into joggers and trainers, I take off. Yes, I am religious about weights, exercise, yoga, and practice. I’m religious about making the most of my opportunity to play. I can’t squander it. Not when it’s something others in my family don’t have. I’ll do what it takes to have a body that works, that can play at the highest level. A private trainer I hired this year recommended adding yoga to my routine. “You can pivot better. Have more explosive crossovers. It can give you an edge,” he’d said.
