I’m ready. Eager. Hungry. And I’m freakin’ capable too.
When he finally calls our line, I explode over the boards like the bench is on fire.
Legs heavy, sweat streaming down the back of my neck, I refuse to give less than one hundred percent even just for one shift. Until that final horn blows, I’m going to give it my all.
When fellow rookie Justin Ashe sends the puck to the blade of my stick, I grin. I don’t tend to use the long curl-and-drag shooting motion that a lot of forwards use. Instead, my motion is extremely compact, sacrificing some of the power for disguise and the ability to release it quickly in a restricted area. Just like one of the top twenty-five players in Nashville Predators history, Filip Forsberg.
The shot goes wide, and I chase the puck into the corner. Someone’s breathing down my neck from the other team, but fuck if I know who. Don’t care, either. Right now, I only need to regain possession of the puck and do whatever I can to get it back into the net.
I’m a heat-seeking missile, the goal is my destination, and my target has been acquired.
Puck gets stuck at the edge of the rink, so I chip it with the toe of my skate. Frustration bubbles inside me. No time for stupid-ass delays when we have a game to win.
Let’s go, little puck.
Sometimes inanimate objects respond to being talked to, especially if you talk sweetly to them.
Someone shunts me from behind.
I slam into the plexi.
My legs go out from under me.
And everything goes black.
CHAPTER 6
Raffi
“Isn’t this his third concussion?”
“Second since school started.”
“I think he said he also had a couple in his last season in high school.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“Oof. What the fuck did you do that for?” Fabric rustles like someone is running their hand back and forth over something.
“Shhhhhhhhh. Keep it the fuck down.”
If everything didn’t hurt, this would be funny. But all I want to do is sleep. There’s a drilling behind my eyes I wish I wasn’t familiar with, and a deep ache through all my muscles.
“Common symptoms of recurrent concussions in hockey players include headache, dizziness, difficulty concentrating, memory problems, and sensitivity to light or noise.”
Ugh. Someone’s reading icehockeycentral.com. I can quote their page on concussion in my sleep.
“Memory problems? What if he forgets who we are?”
No such luck.
Another sharp exhale of air, likely due to an elbow to the stomach. “Stop fucking doing that.”
The voices are all mixing together in my brain, but Cooper, August, and Justin are in the room with me. It’s hard to follow who’s saying what and to whom, and I’m still not brave enough to open my eyes.
“Players who have had multiple concussions may also experience symptoms such as depression, anxiety, and mood swings. It is important for players to report any symptoms to their coach or medical staff. Fuck, this doesn’t sound good. Cap, this doesn’t sound good.”
That’s definitely Justin’s hushed whisper. Despite being a rookie, he’s the worrier of the team, the mother hen. I’d smile if my face didn’t hurt. I don’t remember what happened, but from the throbbing in my nose and eye socket, I’d guess I hit the plexi at speed. It’s not my first rodeo.
