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A few more smart-ass comments are made about how I spent Halloween, but I ignore them and focus on this game against the Nebraska Bucks. They slip a nasty one past Savage within the first minute. It energizes our team. The Kessy twins are on the ice, speeding like mad demons, zipping in and out of the traffic, and confusing the Bucks because they aren’t sure who they should cover.
Thing Two swings behind the net and passes it to Thing One. Collin quickly shoots the puck, sending it high over the goalie’s shoulder. There’s not too much room between his shoulder and the crossbar, but the puck finds its way into the back of the net.
Tie game.
Later, in the second period, I’m in the neutral zone, my eyes briefly on the goalie before seeing Donny on my right. There are two players surrounding me, but after I cross the blue line, Donny passes us with no one within two feet of him. I quickly pass the puck. He hesitates, holding onto it until he’s closer to the net. Their goalie blocks it and we converge to try to hit it past him while Buck players are trying to clear it away. The puck slides to the far left, away from the congestion of sticks and feet, and I reach over to tap it in just as everyone seems to follow to either help me or stop me.
All of that happens in about ten seconds, but we come away with a goal.
My teammates hug me with big smiles on their faces.
“Smile, Hayes!” Donny laughs as he pats my helmet. “You scored.”
If I had a penny for every time someone said something like that to me, I’d be richer than I already am. No one understands my lack of a celebration, not even me. I’m happy and I’ll hug the hell out of my teammates and fist bump those on the bench afterwards, but a smile is asking too much of me. My celebration is simply me nodding to myself and closing my hand into a fist. A lot of people seem to think it’s a show of arrogance, but it’s not. Shows like that are not my thing. I barely smile at my mom; I’m supposed to smile at thousands of people in the stands and however many are watching at home?
No, thanks.
Just the thought gives me the willies. I don’t want to attract any more attention to myself than scoring already does, I guess. For some reason, celebrating my goals has always been outside of my comfort zone. Rarely do I leave my comfort zone.
I left my zone when I pursued my career because I had no choice if I wanted to play professionally.
The only other time I leave my zone is occasionally with Deanna.
I’m in my hotel room after our four-three win when my phone plays one single and brief beep to notify me of a new text.
Deanna: Need company tonight?
Shit. I didn’t expect her to ask to see me. Do financial analysts travel for work? I picked that particular job as a cover because I have a cousin who is one and when he talks about it, he bores me. I figured no one would want to know details about my job. Deanna tuned out the moment I mentioned it, which proves my theory is right. It’s too late to text my mom to find out if he travels; I think he does occasionally. Besides, Deanna won’t know differently. I have to tell her I’m out of town because if I don’t, what if she wants to meet tomorrow?
Me: Out of town for work. Sorry. See me when I get back?
Deanna: Just say when.
That makes me grin.
Deanna: I’m totally bummed. I’m also embarrassed.
Me: Embarrassed, why?
Deanna: I figured you’d say yes, so...I was seconds away from pulling into your driveway.
Deanna: Did you get a dog?
At that, I call her.
“Why would you ask me that?”
Her voice is cutely embarrassed. “I’m still in your driveway since we were texting. There was a dog lying on your porch, and now he’s at my door. He’s so skinny. Poor guy.” I hear dinging in the background as if she opened her door to get out of the car. “Hey, big fella,” she coos at him. “He’s not wearing a collar,” she says to me. “I think he’s homeless.” She sounds so sad.
“He was just hanging on my porch?”
“Yeah. It’s been rainy today; maybe he wanted shelter. I think I’ll take him home. Someone should love him.”
I’m amazed and a little in love with her right now. She finds a stray dog and doesn’t even hesitate to take him in.
“Damn, he reeks and he’s wet.”
“There’s a spare key under the mat at the back door. Go inside to the hallway closet upstairs and there are some old towels. You can dry him off and put them in your car for him to sit on,” I suggest.
