Page 194 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

Not because of pain.

Not because of fear that my shoulder won't hold.

It's excitement.

The kind that belongs to little kids on Christmas Eve and hockey players the night before opening day.

Every time I close my eyes, I picture the rink. The smell of fresh ice. The scrape of blades. The familiar weight of a stick in my hands.

Sometime around two in the morning I finally give up, walk into the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of water.

The therapy calendar hanging on the refrigerator catches my eye.

First On-Ice Session.

The words have been circled for weeks.

This morning, they're finally here.

***

Coach is already waiting when I walk into the practice facility.

He pretends not to notice how early I've arrived. I pretend not to notice he's even earlier.

"You planning to sleep here?" he asks.

"I was afraid you'd start without me."

He snorts. "Hard to start practice when the captain steals all the coffee."

"I brought my own."

"I know." He points toward my travel mug. "I can smell it from here."

For a moment we simply stand together watching the ice crew finish resurfacing the rink.

Neither of us feels the need to fill the silence.

Coach finally speaks. "You nervous?"

I think about lying. Instead, I nod. "More than I expected."

"Good."

I glance sideways.

"Good?"

"If you weren't nervous, I'd be worried." He folds his arms across his chest. "This matters."

"It does."

"You only get one first skate back."

His words settle comfortably. Not as pressure. As perspective.

***