In a wayI felt sort of bad for Latvia.
I wasn’t sure if it was the old BS about backed-up semen making you more combative or if it was the rush of being in that navy blue with red- and white-accented sweater, but I was taking no fucking prisoners. Coach D wanted defense; he was getting defense. Starry and I were knocking men off their skates like they were bowling pins, and we were the red, white, and blue balls. Since I did have blue balls, it all fit.
We were up three-nothing in the first period. The shift to NHL-sized rinks worked fine for us as we were used to the smaller size. The European teams were still trying to adjust to not being able to execute the fancy passing plays that wider ice allowed them to run. Also, and this was fun, the smaller rink favored physical play. Latvia seemed to be having trouble with the North American intensity of hits, so we were causing more turnovers, which frustrated them and led to more penalties.
Case in point was taking place now. Andris Ozios was about to lose his shit. I could see it in his eyes as he tried to throw a hip check into Starry, which missed by a mile. I chuckled as I skated past, tossing out a chirp as I whizzed past him, picking himself up.
“And I thought missing the broad side of a barn was just an old saying,” I said around my mouthguard. I’d not been sure if Ozios would even understand me, but when his stick found its way into my skate and I hit the ice hard, I had to assume that the forward for Latvia spoke English.
I got to my skates, smiled at the Latvian arguing with the ref, and made my way to the bench for a sip of cold water and a round of ass pats from my teammates. Short tempers made for stupid mistakes. We could hear the Latvian coach shouting at someone, not sure who, as I didn’t speak Latvian, but probably me, the ref, or maybe the gods. Whatever, I slammed down some water, gave my head coach a wink, and skated back out for my forty-five seconds of fun.
We had some firecracker forwards on our team, the best of the best, and within ten seconds we were in the Latvian offensive zone swarming their beleaguered goalie. After a blistering shot from a young forward I only knew as Peppy from Dallas, the puck bounced off the goalie’s chest as I used my weight to gently maneuver a Latvian defenseman out of the way. Things then went a little tits up, as the Brits say. I spied the puck lying in front of the Latvian’s goalie’s legs in the blue ice. With a player on my back, literally, I flopped to the ice to try to poke the puck through that gaping five hole.
The guy on my back was not having it. The goalie was not having it. I, on the other hand, was having all of it. I swiped at the puck as another body crashed down on me and watched from my vantage point of cheek pressed to cold ice as the puck skittered through thick pads to just inch over the line. Goal horns blew, fans roared, the guy on my back drove his elbow into my right kidney. Then he hit me with a fist. Right in that same poor kidney. It hurt big time. Like hurt so big I nearly blew my cookies. Whistles blew and whoever it was got the boot from the game, according to the refs yelling at whoever to leave the ice.There’s no fighting in the Olympics, not that cheap shots to a man’s renal organs was a fair fight.
I got to my skates, sore as hell, but gladly took the back poundings from my teammates for that goal. My flank was on fire, but I was not going to let a little jab take me out of this event. They’d have to scrape me up from the ice in those bright snow shovels the ice teams use to get my old, battered ass off this ice. I did take a small sit, just until my next shift, to drink some water.
“Nowthatwas ugly hockey!” Coach yelled as he thumped my shoulder sending hot flashes of pain down my side to my rib and hip where the bruise was probably already forming. “Well done, O’Leary. I want to see more of that dedication and grit, men!”
I smiled and nodded, wiped my nose on my sleeve, and took one more gulp of water before throwing myself back out there. Hockey games weren’t won by quitters. As Herb Brooks once said, “Risk something or forever sit with your dreams.” I’d risk my body for this team and that gold medal. My heart was already on the line, so I guess I was risking it all for my dreams.
The next morningmy dreams were mostly about a heating pad, ibuprofen, and checking for blood every time I hauled my sore ass out of bed to piss. So far so good on the piss. Otherwise, I felt like someone had hit me in the kidney with a two-by-four.
“You really should call the team doctor,” Starry said for the tenth time since we’d woken up after our trouncing of Team Latvia.
“It’s good. I’m fine. I’ve had worse pain stubbing my toe,” I lied like a big sore rug. “Just give me a few minutes to get with the program.”
“Rock head,” he mumbled as I moaned and groaned my way to a sitting position.
“Hey, winners don’t win if they quit,” I ground out while trying to ease my arm into a T-shirt without another whimper.
“Obviously. Will you at least skip morning skate to rest? We don’t play again until tomorrow, so you’re totally cool to take a down day.”
Jesus the man was stubborn.
“Nope, if I skip morning skate Coach will rip me a new asshole. A hot shower, some food, and a few Advil and I’ll be right as rain.”
What Pete said as he entered the bathroom with his cell I didn’t fully catch. Part of it sounded like hardheaded pecker but I could be mistaken. I’d just made it to the little couch by the window when someone knocked on our door. I could hear the shower running and Starry’s questionable musical selections blaring, so I old man-walked to the door to peek out the peep hole. There stood Tian, rumpled and sleepy, hair all at cross ends.
“Hey,” I said after unlocking and opening the door. “You’re up early.”
“I got a call from your roommate.” He eased in as I did my best impression of a carp lying on the bank. “You’re in pain.”
“Starry called you? How did he get your number?” I asked as I began plotting how to sneak into the bathroom so I could flush the toilet while he showered. That would show him. “I’m fine just a little—Hey! Stop that! Personal boundaries!”
He tugged the back of my shirt up. I was too sore to lift my arm properly to swat him away. His hiss made me cringe inside.
“Fuck, Jack, that looks awful.”
“It’s just a bruise. I’m going to kick Starry in the balls.”
“You can’t lift your leg that high. Come sit down.” He eased an arm around me as if I were some old man who might fall over.I leaned into him just so he felt good about being a nosy and overprotective lover. “You shouldnotplay for a few days. What did the team doctor say when he saw this last night?”
“Take some aspirin, apply heat, let me know if you piss blood or puke.” I’d not told the team physician I was in pain so that was all a lie but a good lie because it was based on truth. I’d had bruised kidneys before. I’d had bruised everything before. You didn’t play hockey for a living and not end up with injuries. If you did you weren’t playing hard enough, or so one of my college coaches had preached.
“Hmm,” Tian said as we made our way to my bed. I sat back down with a grunt. “Can I get you to at least let the doctor look at it?” He sat down beside me, his hand on my thigh. “Please?”
“Tian, baby, I’m really touched that you’re worried, but it’s nothing. Honestly, I’m just stiff and sore but that will go away with a nice heat wrap and massage after skate.”
