Raffi
It’s game night. I’ve spent all week long doing all the things I should do. Eating right, sleeping right, and hydrating so much that I slosh when I walk. I eased back into training at the gym, Phil made sure of it. I even tried to hit up one of Lauren’s classes, and she tattled on me to Phil.
I’d be mad, but they’re looking out for me, and I appreciate that. My tendency to push myself too far will end up biting me in the ass if I don’t take the right steps to recover.
Warm up felt good. My legs are strong from all the squats at the gym, and my mind is focused. Victoria is in the stands, and while we decided not to bring Wyatt for a while yet, she brought his favorite stuffed animal to the rink, and he’s sitting in my locker for good luck.
I’m not sure who’s sweeter, mini firecracker or mom firecracker.
Victoria stayed with me all night Sunday and all day Monday. She didn’t let me leave her bed for anything other than a trip to the bathroom. She forbade me from watching TV, listening to music, or even reading books. It was full rest.We talked a lot, in hushed voices, and Wyatt crashed into bed with us to read some stories while I dozed next to them.
Something about being in their space makes me feel whole, balanced, like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
When the starting buzzer echoes around the rink, adrenaline fills me from the skates up. We win the opening faceoff and my buddy Tate sends me a great cross-ice pass that I chip forward to Apollo who’s lying in wait by the goal. A quick wrist-flick and the Wolves’ goaltender doesn’t know what’s hit him when the puck sails under the crossbar and lands in the net.
The crowd goes wild as we go up one to nothing against the visitors within the first twenty seconds of play. I clocked where my firecracker was sitting during warmups, so I give her a wink. She looks green, like she might puke, but she gives me a shaky smile all the same. I love that bright red lipstick on her.
I haven’t asked her if she’s looked up video footage of the hits I’ve taken over the years, but from the anxiety that radiates from her at every game, I bet she has.
An early goal is the momentum we need, and excitement sizzles in the air. It’s our quickest goal so far this season, and knowing I had a hand in it makes me all the more determined to push hard. As a hockey player, our first shifts have to be good ones. Starts are huge. Hitting the ice with a lot of energy isn’t always easy to do, but the team is focused. We’re not letting the wolves win in our barn.
A quick interception from the faceoff ends up with the puck on the Wolves’ bench. The puck comes back into our zone, and within seconds the ref’s hand goes up calling a penalty against Artemis for slashing.
Going a man down this early in the game wasn’t on our bingo card either, but we’ll figure it out. Sure, our best defender and penalty killer is sitting out the penalty kill, butwe’ve got this. It was an easy call for the official, but that doesn’t stop the crowd booing him as he reports the penalty.
The Wolves power play kicks off with two huge shots on goal, but Ares isn’t accepting goals tonight. His face is serene, his concentration on point, and his back to back blocker saves are straight up impressive as fuck.
It’s a huge kill, but we pull it off. Sweat streams down the faces of our penalty kill special team.
When he returns to the ice, Artemis lays out one of the Wolves with a perfect open-ice check much to the enjoyment of the crowd. It’s a physical game, big hits across the board, but we’re really stepping up our presence on the ice. It’s a great way to frustrate teams and get under their skin. Anxiety slithers under my skin at the prospect of taking a heavy hit. The physical nature of the game in general makes it a possibility every time we ice, but tonight it’s playing on my mind more than usual.
We dump it in deep on the forecheck but the Wolves turn it over and head into our zone. Ares holds them off for the rest of the period, and goals in the final ten minutes from Apollo and a deflection from Jackson’s stick bring us across the line with a three-to-nothing win.
It’s a glorious shut out for Ares, well deserved. He stopped forty three shots and didn’t end up with a penalty when the Wolves basically dry humped him and got away with it. In truth, I felt like a passenger for most of the second and some of the third, coasting even, but we pull out the win despite my being ‘off.’
By the end of the game, Victoria has some color back in her cheeks. I’m fucking exhausted from overthinking every move, every play, every goddamn shift on the ice. But if I don’t play hockey, what would I do?
Should I talk to Mom and Dad about stepping down? The weight of their potential disappointment at not having asuperstar hockey playing son is crushing. They’ve never said it outright, they probably know it would ruin me, but whether or not they voice their concerns is irrelevant. I can’t let them down. It’s all they’ve talked about for years.
And the team probably wouldn’t take it well, either. Rationally speaking, people graduate every year. People get injured. But this isn’t anyone else, it’s me, and it feels so far from rational that we aren’t even in the same time zone.
Victoria made a good point in bed the other day when I convinced her to just lie with me for a while. She said if it was any other player on the team who was in my shoes, I’d tell them—without a beat of hesitation—to listen to the doctors and do what they needed to do to stay safe.
But with me, I just keep pushing through because it’s what I should do.
She said “should” is a dangerous word, and she’s right. I’m just not sure how to get out from under its crippling pressure.
As I step into the showers post-game, I resolve to look into alternative options to finish out my degree without my scholarship. The guys might play in a rec league or something so I can still get my ice fix every now and then.
I don’t need to make a decision right now. But the fear in Victoria’s eyes as she watches me skate onto the ice would probably be the exact fear in Mom’s eyes if she knew the extent of the potential damage playing could do.
Victoria yelled at me for not telling my parents just how bad things are, too. She thinks that if they knew the risks they might not be so set on me making it to the National Hockey League. I mean, she makes a solid point, but I’m sure they’d be disappointed.
It’s hard to know for sure until I actually talk to them.
“You getting dressed or are you gonna sit and stare at the wall?” Water sluices down Tate’s bare chest, dripping onto the floor. “You okay?”
“Hm?Oh. Yeah. I’m good. Just tired.”
