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If I dared step a skate onto that ice, it means I’m willing to try to let go of my guilt. It means I am willing to accept my own personal absolution. I might be ready to do that.
But can I reclaim my old life? Have I burned the tenuous bridges that were in place when, time and time again, I was an ass to everyone on the team?
I don’t know, and I’m not going to hope for such a thing. But right now… at this moment… I am going to play a bit of hockey, just to see how it feels.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my gear and head into the facility. I steel myself to be recognized. This is a popular place, given they have three different rinks.
I pull open the glass door, moving past the skate rental booth, and veer right to Rink C where Stone said they’d be. I don’t look around, but I feel eyes on me. I even hear my name murmured as I pass people.
It’s not easy, but I ignore it all. I’m afraid if I make eye contact, fans will want to connect in a friendly way or some asshole is going to give me a piece of their mind about the suspension.
Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.
As the ice comes into view, I see my teammates skating around. They’re already engaged in a game of three-on-three using only half the rink and without a goalie in net. Just a lot of skating, trick passes through the legs and such. General goofing off.
There’s nothing but laughter that hits my ears as I approach, and surprisingly, it doesn’t grate.
Boone sees me first—the dude who took my place on the first line during my suspensions. He pulls to a stop with a short spray of ice and a huge smile breaks out on his face. “Coen’s here,” he announces, and the game stops.
It’s like a blinding spotlight shining on me as I take in the men.
Gage, Stone, Boone, Camden, Hendrix, and Kirill.
Camden and Hendrix were on the team with me before the crash. Both weren’t on the plane due to injuries. We’ve been dubbed the Lucky Three. We survived the crash by not being on the doomed plane.
And they have survived. I’m sure they’ve grappled with the same survivor’s guilt I have, but they’ve worked through it. They’ve embraced the new team and forged bonds with their new linemates. They’ve reveled in being back on the ice and easily slipped back into the spirit of competition.
They did what I couldn’t do, and there was a period I resented them for it.
Of course, they didn’t betray a friend the way I did by fucking around with his girlfriend.
For a moment, I panic. This was a bad idea, and my gear bag suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. My hands sweat and the grip on my stick is too tight.
It’s Gage who doesn’t give me the chance to flee. He skates up to the boards, pulling a glove off and shoving it under his arm to hold. Reaching his hand out, he leans my way for a shake. “Dude… it is great to see you.”
I have no choice but to move forward and accept the greeting. Which is then followed by all the other guys who skate to me for fist bumps or back slaps.
Everyone seems genuinely happy I’m here, but not in a way that makes me believe they have unrealistic expectations.
Throwing a thumb over my shoulder, I say to Stone, “I got your brother’s stuff in my truck.”
Lame. Of course, he knows that.
“Cool,” he replies. “I’ll get it later. Why don’t you suit up and join us? We’re just fucking around.”
“Nah,” I say with a wave of my hand. “You have three-on-three going already.”
“We’ll go four-on-three,” Camden announces. “And the team of four has to play with their nondominant hand only.”
“That will work,” says Hendrix, who is known to be ambidextrous.
Not sure anyone else knows that, maybe Camden, so I call him on the carpet. “You’re on the team of three.”
They laugh, and I feel light of spirit as I make my way to the dressing room. I quickly change, which is easy without all the pads. We’re not playing contact, so within five minutes, I’m stepping onto the ice for the first time in three and a half months.
I don’t know what to expect. I haven’t gone this long without skating since the first time I put blades on my feet. Sure, I might take a few weeks off at the beginning of the off-season, but thetraining never stops. I’m usually hitting the ice at least twice a week if I can manage to do drills.
I take a few spins around the half rink. Another small game is underway on the other side, and some of the players stare at me.
