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“He’s still here, but he’s looking to retire.” Max began marching towards the zam doors. The goof didn’t have to zam— that was way below his pay grade. Teenage guys usually got shafted to that job, but for some reason, Max actuallylikedzamming. Of course, zamming was just another job I couldn’t even do now because of my damn right foot.
I looked up at the Pepsi clock. I still had a while until Grey showed up, and I didn’t really have the choice to leave. I didn't want to call up my parents and ask them to come get me. I mean, really, how pathetic… I was twenty-four years old, back in my hometown, and waiting around for my parents to chauffeur me around because I couldn’t even drive myself. If I’d broken my left foot, I’d at least still be able to drive. I looked up to the ceiling and cursed New Jersey for about the millionth time.
I guess I could’ve salvaged a little dignity by choosing to heal up and rehab in Detroit, but all my teammates started leaving town as soon as our playoff run ended.
It was times like these where I kinda wished I had a girlfriend to help me out. But I had a rule: No situationships or flings were allowed to go over three weeks long. That way, I could avoid any attachments. I saw how a serious relationship could shatter a person. I watched my sister lose Nick, and I never ever wanted to be responsible for making a girl feel that much pain. Yes, she and Griff got together after, and that was a win for the family, but I didn’t want to rock the boat and test the Callahan relationship luck anymore. So, I could take care of myself.
And part of taking care of myself included finding some lunch for Beau and I before we starved.
I crutched back to the locker room hallway and tried to find an empty one. I knocked on each door, and every time someone answered, I had to stifle a groan. I was getting tired of crutching and needed to sit for a while.
I ended up having to crutch all the way back to locker room 7 before no one answered my knock. I pushed open the heavy door and allowed Beau inside, then slung my backpack onto the locker room bench and started setting up a little spot for Beau. I took out a blanket, his favorite stuffed toy, and two bowls– one for his food and one for water. I dropped my crutches on the ground and hopped on my good foot over to the little sectioned off bathroom and filled up his water bowl for him.
As soon as his little spot was set up, he nuzzled my good leg for a second, almost like he was saying thank you to me, then paid attention to his food.
I sat with my casted leg extended out on the bench next to me and leaned down to give him some good pets.
Within five minutes, he was snoozing, and I took that as my cue to find my own lunch. I pushed a stopper under the heavy locker room door so that Beau could come out and find me when he was done with his little nap, then I made my way back across the lobby toward the vending machines.
I stood there trying to decide between a very balanced meal of Cheetos or Doritos, but my focus was kind of stolen by the sound of a loud crash behind me.
I wiped my neck around to see a tall, lanky, blond guy in tight, black sweatpants, and a short girl wearing leggings and a tank top, sprawled out on the ground.
“She’s not holding her weight!” the guy shouted at the two coaches standing at the edge of the lobby. It sounded like he had a slight accent… maybe Russian? German? “How many times are we going to have to practice this?”
The guy and girl must’ve been pairs skaters practicing their lifts off the ice first. They always practiced in the lobby in tennis shoes before adding skates and the ice to the equation… I should know… I used to secretly watchherpractice all the time…
I watched the girl slowly stand and brush herself off. I could only see the back of her, but she was very muscular and the way she moved seemed very familiar.But it couldn’t be… Last I heard,shemoved to Canada to train there. Besides, this girl had dark hair. She wore it in french braids that gathered at the base of her neck and ended in a short ponytail.
My subconsciousness was probably just playing tricks on me because I hadn’t come back here in years, and whenever I thought of the Ice League, it was synonymous withher. All my memories of this place included her.
The two coaches– a Russian guy, who I recognized from working here at the Ice League for years, and a stout, older woman– dissolved into serious discussion as they started making their way back into the East side’s rink. The figure skaters always skated on the East side because it housed an Olympic-sized sheet of ice, which was regulation size for figure skating and actually much larger than the NHL-sized rinks. I hated playing on Olympic-sized ice because you had to skate faster and further to catch passes.
I tried to turn my attention back to the vending machine, but the pairs guy’s voice made my stomach churn angrily.
“It’s no wonder Matty dumped you on your ass. He was jumping ship,” he said dryly.
I leaned down to grab my chip bag, then slowly crutched a bit closer to hear the rest of what they were saying.
“Good luck finding a partner when you can’t even do a simple lift,” he added. “This is for beginners,” he spat.
I waited for the girl to say something, anything… but she remained silent and just accepted the insults. She had her back turned to me… and I had to shake off an uneasy feeling that Iknewthat neck. She rested her hands on top of her head and began stretching her hips out, completely ignoring her partner.
“Really, I thought you’d be better thanthis. You should update your videos because you obviously are not so good anymore,” he said with a snarl.
She whispered something then, and I watched the guy’s face transform into pure rage.
“You cannot speak to me that way!” He started moving closer to her in an aggressive manner, and there was no way I was going to letthathappen. Even though this girl wasn’ther, I wasn’t about to let anyone charge at another person like that.
“Hey, fuck off, dickhead,” I called out, kinda surprising myself with how angry my voice sounded.
He turned, took one look at me, and laughed like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen. He stretched out an arm toward me. “Says who? Some hockey bum? You don’t even know who I am,” the arrogant prick returned.
“You don’t know whoI am,” I practically growled. “And you really don’t want to make me angry.”
I mean, really, they didn't call me a “ball of hate” growing up for nothing.
He stepped closer to me then, which made me feel better, because at least that meant he was further away from the petite girl.
