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“It’s just a precaution, honey. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew the results, but I knew you’d be upset if I didn’t let you know about the biopsy. It’s only about one centimeter - the size of a pea. And they’ll have the results Tuesday, maybe Thursday at the latest.”

Tuesday. Or Thursday. I glanced over my shoulder at the orcs coming off the bus and the staff unloading the equipment and luggage. My team was taking video, and I had more important things to think about right now. A lump. Biopsy. What if she had cancer? I couldn’t let her go through treatment alone. And if she died….

My mother. My rock. The only person I truly knew I could rely upon, even though I never reached out because she’d done so much for me and I didn’t want to burden her further. I couldn’t lose her. My life would be so empty without her.

“Abby.” Her voice yanked me back to the present. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. And I’ll call you the moment I hear the results. I just wanted you to know. Stop worrying about me.”

I’d never stop worrying about her. “Okay, I won’t worry,” I lied. “Are you around for dinner Saturday?”

“Nancy and I are going to a wine festival. I’d love to have dinner, but I’m not sure when we’ll be back. And there’s a good chance I’ll be tipsy and ready for a nap. How about Sunday? I’ll make Swiss hamburgers.”

I smiled, thinking of the poor-man’s Swiss steak that was a staple growing up. Nobody made Swiss hamburgers like mom. “Sounds great. I’ll bring a bottle of wine, a bag of salad, and some desert.”

“Bomb pie?” Mom suggested.

I laughed, knowing how much she loved the iconic fudge and custard pie with Berger’s cookies making up the crumble crust. “You’ve got it.”

I was not quite as close to a panic attack as I’d been when Mom first told me her news, but it still remained foremost in my mind and threw me off my game when it came to organizing the photo and video shoot of the team’s homecoming. Malik and Daniella shot me a concerned glance, but thankfully didn’t ask any questions and jumped in to fill the gaps my inattention left.

12

BWAT

Once again I ended up being the only player from the Tusks willing to talk to the human reporters after the game. We were getting right on the bus and driving through the night to Baltimore, so I didn’t have much time to answer their questions, but it felt rude to just push past them.

A female with stiff hair the color of corn pointed the microphone at me and smiled. “Bwat, three goals is a record for the Tusks. Tell me what the team is doing to strengthen their defense in future games.”

I blinked as several cameras flashed for pictures. Two humans were recording video, and two more were leaning in with their own microphones. “I am not in charge of the team, but I think our goalie needs to keep the puck out of our net, and other orcs need to steal the puck from the enemy before it gets close to our net.”

“Yes, that’s true.” The woman kept smiling. “Does the team plan to switch out goalies? Reassign others on the team to defense?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know who decides what orc plays what position. There are some of us that are better at skating and would be better at defending the net. Maybe the goal-orc would do a better job then.”

A man with a shellacked head of hair pushed his microphone closer. “Were the three goals tonight a fluke? The team’s skating has improved, but your puck control is still lacking. What are you doing to ensure this trend of scoring continues?”

“Umm.” I had to think before responding, always confused by the human’s use of “you” as both a singular and plural pronoun. “My skating has not improved as much as I want, and I am very frustrated by my lack of ability to keep the puck or send it where I want. I will keep practicing and watching YouTube videos on hockey. While I did not score any of the goals today, I hope I will in the future. And the team feels the same. We work hard and know that one day we will be able to show our fans a win.”

“Bwat!” Ugwyll shouted from the door. “The transportation beast is leaving with or without you in it. Move your legs.”

I apologized to the humans for my rude exit, then ran for the bus.

The drive home went so slowly I felt as if we were walking it instead of riding in the bus.

Home. There was home where I had grown up, and now this home here among the humans. Was it wrong that I had grown to love this human world so? It wasn’t just that Abby was here. The human world was interesting. I loved meeting all the different humans, learning their diverse culture, seeing their buildings and their art, eating the food that was as much a part of their identity as their cities and states. I was exhausted, but too excited to sleep so fueled by rest-stop coffee, I posted social media content, including a video of Pfton sleeping in the seat beside me. His head was tilted at an uncomfortable angle, making his snores even louder. A line of drool extended from his open mouth to his chin. I waved an open bag of chips under his nose and the orc snorted a few times before opening his eyes and snatching the bag out of my hand. He’d devoured them within seconds, then went back to snoring.

Looking out the window of the bus I watched the white stripes go by as cars and trucks with darkened windows passed us. I could hear the hum of the bus tires, the grumble of the engine, the swish of the vehicles passing us. Still I could not sleep.

I checked my social media accounts and replied to comments before going over to Abby’s posts both on the team’s official accounts and on her own. Her personal social media pages had been rather sparse in content for the last week. It made me worry about her. While I admired how hard she worked, I was concerned that she was pushing herself too hard and neglecting self-care. Hopefully her friends were making sure she had food and that she was having fun relaxing times to balance out her hours on the job. And sleep. I felt deep guilt that I had woken Abby up with a few of my calls, knowing how little rest she was getting, but I still cherished those conversations and longed to hear the sound of her voice again.

But I would not call her now. Not at three o’clock in the morning.

One human did not seem to be asleep, though. My phone pinged and a text from Dylan Emmet appeared on the screen.

Dylan: Hey man. Your skating has improved and so has your puck handling. Don’t discount your accomplishments. You’ve gone from someone who hasn’t ever been on skates or seen hockey to holding your own against professional teams, and against human players who have spent their lives focusing on this game. Keep going and you’ll be winning games eventually.

Dylan: Except against me. Those games you’ll always lose.

I chuckled.