“Of course you have.” I finish my coffee and head out.
As I drive back to Hoboken, I keep replaying the things she said when she got emotional. I’ve always criticized her? That’s ridiculous.
Her comment about always knowing best does kind of bite. Because I do. But I only try to help. And what was that bullshit about “accepting people as they are” and “respecting their boundaries”? Did I overstep some kind of boundary she has? She’s the one who asked me to do this! And I still have misgivings about it; I was just making that clear to her.
As I drive, I get a text message from Emma.
Emma
Still good for tomorrow?
Carson
Yeah I made a reservation at Bambino for 7
Emma
Perfect! I’ll meet you there
Carson
Sounds good
A second date. It feels weird. I had a good time that night Emma and I went to the art gallery show. After, we went out for drinks and snacks. She’s easy to talk to, smart, very curious about hockey and life as a hockey player. We got to know each other a bit better. Tonight will be the same. Should I tell her about this crazy plan I’ve been sucked into? Probably not. Who knows. I’ll deal with it next weekend when I have to go away.
8
CARSON
“Congrats, team.” I high-five our goalie in the dressing room after another win. “We did it.”
“Fuck yeah, we did!” Archie agrees.
I’m sweaty and exhausted, but happy. Two goals and an assist will do that to you.
Things have really been clicking for us this season. Since Shawzy and Crusher have been playing together full-time on defense, they’ve been red-hot. Their size and mobility make them a nightmare for opponents on the rush. They’ve also chipped in some offense, with Crusher up to thirty-one points now. Our goalie Archie’s been excellent with a .925 save percentage and nine wins in ten starts. And since Coach put Turks on the right wing with me and Benny, the three of us are humming. The confidence feels fucking fantastic.
As I’m heading out, I walk with Trev. “Hey,” I say. “What happened with the MRI you went for on your wrist?”
“Nothing showed up.”
“Huh. That’s weird.”
Trev shrugs. “I guess. Maybe there’s nothing wrong.”
“You know there’s something wrong.”
“Maybe I’m inventing physical symptoms to justify why I’m playing so shitty.”
“Jesus Christ.” I stare at him.
He gives me a weak grin. “It’s possible.”
I shake my head. “What now? They have to figure out what the problem is.”
“Yeah, Doc Wilkinson is referring me to the Mayo Clinic.”
“Good.” I nod. “When do you go?”
