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“Maybe. He’s been in my life in some way for such a long time. And now, poof.” I wave my hands in the air. It almost doesn’t make sense. It’s impossible. Isn’t it? “How am I supposed to break the habit of always looking over my shoulder? Or worrying when he’ll take me again? Life is supposed to be normal after such a long period of abnormalcy?” I ask incredulously.
“One breath. One step. One day at a time, Julie.”
That makes me roll my eyes.
“I’m serious. You’re looking at the big picture and it’s overwhelming. We need to look at the small picture. The current picture. Only what matters at this very second for the time being.” When I give him a skeptical look, he dives further into this topic.
I do my best to listen and put my best foot forward, just as I wanted Collin to do. When I leave, I drive straight to the apartment, happy to be done with everything needed for the day. Somehow, Collin manages to text me, asking how things went. I give him a short answer, but promise to give more detail when we can actually talk.
I’m not sure if I feel any better after having my first official therapy session. But it’s a start. It’s the beginning of a new life. A new time when I can be as happy as I wish with only life’s natural curveballs to cause disruptions. And that is something I can look forward to.
The series has us down three games to two as we enter game six. We’re on foreign ice. The home crowd is roaring, eager and cheering on their team to finish us off tonight. There have been too many losses this year. I plan to get as many wins as I can, even if it means spending extra time away from home. Away from Julie.
Despite not having our own fans outweighing the home crowd, the energy within the locker room right before the game is to start is higher than it’s been yet this playoff season. Maybe it’s because we’ve made it as far as we have. Maybe it’s because everything is on the line in this game toni
ght. Maybe it’s because we’re so damn hungry for the win. Either way, it’s fuel for the fire.
The intensity is even higher the moment the puck touches the ice. The sounds of the game roar in my ears, filling my head. My blood pumps with an energy that can only be found during this time of year. Add in the natural anxiety I get and it’s an odd type of high.
Up and down the ice we go. Shooting shot after shot at their goalie and holding our breaths when Savage is faced with a shot. Somehow, with all the back and forth and scrapping in front of the goalies, the first period ends without much action on the board.
The second period begins with a flurry of activity in front of both nets as a guy from each team gets called for a penalty. I’m on the bench when I see Rams score all the way from the blue line. The puck manages to fly through the air, over the goalie’s head, bounces off his back, and into the net as the goalie inadvertently slides backward. But two minutes later, I’m on the ice, fighting an asshole of a player in the defensive zone, battling for the puck, when he manages to snag it away. He quickly passes it to his teammate who whips past my brother to make his shot.
And scores.
A few minutes later, Zane gets hit particularly rough and out of the blue. The puck left his stick about seven seconds before the hit, a clear thirty feet down the ice away from him, when he’s checked hard into the boards by a player rushing across the ice. Everyone on the bench stands, breath stuck in our lungs as he lies on the ice for a second too long for comfort. Almost immediately, Brayden, who wasn’t too far away, closes the distance. The gloves fly off his hands in one smooth motion. Our eyes bounce back and forth between the fight and Zane. He comes to his feet as the fighting duo slip and fall, refs pulling them apart immediately.
As if the energy wasn’t high enough in the arena, there’s now a constant buzz, a new edge. But it doesn’t help us in any way. We fight with all we have, but it’s just not enough. In the middle of the third, the other team scores twice to secure the win and their place in the next round.
That’s it.
Season is over.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but I feel a new heaviness and lightness. A lightness that I can put this long, troublesome season behind me, but a heaviness that it ended without the ultimate prize, without us going as far as I wanted. It’s not until we’re back in the hotel for the night, with plans to fly home tomorrow, that I check my phone.
Julie: I’m sorry.
The text makes me smile.
Me: It’s okay. Just looking forward to coming home now.
Julie: Is it bad to say I’ll be glad when you are? It’s been a rough few days.
Me: You haven’t mentioned that…
Julie: I didn’t want to distract you.
This is enough of a red flag for me to call her.
“What’s wrong, Jules?”
Cal glances over at me; he’s my roomie as usual. He’s nosy.
Julie sighs. “I’ve just been antsy. Trace has been pushing me kinda hard lately. I feel like I’ve been left alone,” she admits softly.
“Jules,” I whisper back as softly. My heart aches that she still struggles as much as she does. Not that I expect for her to heal so fast, but I feel like she’s moving at a slower pace than anyone would like.
“I just miss you.”
