I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to pull myself out of that if he hadn’t found me. Probably until I reached complete exhaustion.
His blue eyes flash in my mind, the look in them still surprising me. There was no judgment or confusion. It’s like he knew exactly what I was going through without a single word exchanged. It was so comforting but equally terrifying. In that moment, I knew he had some demons of his own he had battled—or still is. To be determined.
Not determined because I’m not his coach or his friend.
“Shay?” My therapist calls my name, and I quickly shake away my stupor.
“Sorry.” I stammer, inhaling and exhaling slowly and gathering my thoughts. “I hated being there at first, being surrounded by the scent of the arena.” The rubber mats. Faint exhaust odor.
“Seeing the ice again was …” I stumble, searching for the perfect word. “Like coming home.” My eyebrows furrow. “But then my stupid mind had to ruin that moment when it overreacted to the sound of blades on the ice. It was embarrassing, freaking out over that. A sound I had heard a thousand times over.”
“But not since your accident,” she adds. “And after that?”
“I closed myself in a private room and sang my comfort song. At some point, Matt found me. I didn’t hear him come in. I didn’t notice him at all until I realized he was holding and rocking me while I calmed down.” My words are too fast, scattered, andbreathy. “He didn’t make a big deal of it. He just talked to me afterward, telling me things he probably thought I wanted to hear.”
“Like what?”
“How I’m a badass goalie.Was. How the Nighthawks would be lucky to have me.” I sigh, my shoulders dropping as I avoid looking at the screen, letting my gaze fall to Kyle lying in his dog bed in the living room, sound asleep.
“You don’t think he might have meant it when he said that to you?” she asks as if that’s such an easy alternative. “You are a badass goalie. And the Nighthawks would be lucky to have you.”
I try to stop it before it happens, but it’s too late. My eyes are already rolling.
“Sticky note,” she orders me, and I don’t have to look at the screen to see her smile. I can hear it in the tone of her voice. “Every day for the next month.”
My eyes bulge, and my jaw falls open. “What? You’ve never made me fill out a note more than once a week.”
She shrugs. “Clearly, this is one you’re having extra difficulty accepting, so it requires extra time.”
I don’t know what to say. She’s not wrong. I don’t believe it. My days as a badass goalie ended that fateful game on the ice. And so far, I think the Nighthawks are far better off without me.
“Do you ever want to see the ice again?” she asks. “Up close and personal.”
I know my answer, even if I don’t want to say it, so instead, I nod.
“Do you remember when we first started sessions and you told me you’d do whatever I said it took to get back to normal?”
“That was a much different version of me,” I groan, lying.
“She’s still in there.” Sitting up, she sets her notepad and pen down. “Your homework—remember, you said you’d do anything I said—is to call your friend back and tell him you want the job.”
Anxiety immediately floods my system. “I-I can’t.”
“You can,” she assures me, which does absolutely nothing. “Take it slow. Stay in the stands. Work your way into the tunnel, then closer to the bench. You can do this, Shay. And I know how badly you want it. I could see the spark in your eyes when you were describing the ice. You miss it like it’s a part of you, and it is. It always will be.” She takes a breath. “You’ve got this. I promise you.”
This is dumb, a horrible decision for both me and for the team because there’s no way I’m going to be adding anything useful to the organization while I’m working through my own damn trauma.
Biting down on my bottom lip, probably too hard, I slowly nod, accepting my fate. “Okay.”
“I was so excited when you called, Shay. I knew you would. It’s going to be great,” Andy tells me as we board the plane to my first away game.
I was nervous to be restarting this journey in my own arena, but apparently, we’re going to start it again in Ottawa for game one of round one in the Stanley Cup playoffs.
Andy continues, “I know you’re nervous, and you absolutely take it at your own pace. We’ve got a box where a couple of our injured players and some family will be. You are welcome to take notes and watch from there. I’d love to get your point of view on MacArthur’s game play.”
Nodding as he talks, I feel excitement thrum through me. “That sounds perfect actually.”
“Good.” He smiles, his chin tipping up with pride. “Come on. You’re next to me.”
