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He gets back in it. “Like I said, just keep playing clean. We got this one in the can with Bryant out. This keeper is intimidated by quick drives, so no time-wasting at face-off.”
The buzzer goes, and it’s first line out on the ice. Usually, with us being so far ahead score-wise, I wouldn’t be so motivated, but something lights a fire under my ass, and I decide it’s my turn to put it in. I glide out onto the pristine canvas beneath my skates. The ice glistens in the artificial light of the cold arena, and I skate out to my defense position, my eyes, hard as I try, have a mind of their own and work their way back up to the box.
I slap my helmet, reminding myself to be present. Here. Now. Puck. Ice. Skate. Slap. Before the puck drops, I imagine my moves. I imagine a breakaway. I play it out in my mind’s eye…
Chill seeps through my gear, and I crouch low for the face-off, and with the Steamrollers being behind, their morale is low, and me and my teammates make plays as if performing well-rehearsed choreography. I get a pass, and with a sudden burst of speed, I weave through their defenders who might as well not be there today. My skates float, it’s like there’s no resistance, I’m so damndetermined to score. My heart pounds when I approach the net.
The second-rate goalie braces himself for the challenge, intently focused on me barreling down. When I reach the high slot, the puck has a presence of its own, weighty on my stick. I don’t have the best opening. My teammate calls for the pass, but I’m greedy for it… There’s a small opening, a sliver of light between the goalie’s shin pads…
With a crack, I smash the puck. It sails off my stick, a blur of black and white, but years of experience tell me it’s in. I turn before the rookie keeper realizes I nutmegged him and the home crowd erupts.
“WOOF, WOOF, WOOF. GREAT DAAAAANE!”
My eyes flick back up to the box, and Joey jumps up and down with my mom in her arms. Her hair bounces in golden ribbons up and down her back, and I can only imagine how her tits dance like that.
But before my fantasy takes me any farther, a shoulder comes flying into me. Unprepared, I lose my footing and fall to the ice. My ankle cranks with a searing pain. Fuck. A veteran from the Steamrollers stands over me, ready to fight. It’s not even a clever brawl. He’s seeing red, bright like the humiliating score. But if he wants a fight? I’ll never back down.
I push myself back to my feet, but my ankle turns inward, and I barely make it to one skate. My ankle is weak… shit. I grit my teeth… I’m going to fuck this guy up… But I can hardly plow into him on one skate. My teammates pile onto the ice in my stead because they all know. This isn’t the first injury I’ve had, and if I was all right, this guy would be in row Z right now.
I don’t even know what happens next because several Scorpions form a shield of fighting soldiersand physio comes onto the ice to fetch me. Goddamn it. I took my eyes off the game for one fucking second and didn’t see it coming.
I. Am. Screwed.
By the time I return to my bedroom that night, I’ve been told I need a couple of weeks’ rest. It’s total bullshit because my ankle already feels better after icing, but seeing as this isn’t the first time I twisted it, and as my blunt PT likes to point outat my age,better safe than sorry.
A string of away games means this is it. A twelve-by-twelve bedroom will be my fate for at least the away games, possibly more. I take another look at the space and wonder if it’s worth getting a TV mounted in here while I’m around. Or maybe during the next week or so I should hit the ground running, finding me somewhere to live in Starlight Canyon. I should focus on the silver lining, I could use the time to get my shit together, but none of it seems to be as important as being useful to my team.
I fall onto the mattress. It’s still pretty damn bouncy after all these years but not nearly big enough. I settle myself into the queen-sized bed. Truly, my California King is the only thing I miss from my mansion.
Buzz.
I let my head fall against the back of the headboard. It’s probably Logan. But when I flip my phone over, it’s another Hunter.
JOEY
IF IT’S ANY CONSOLATION, I’M PRETTY SURE YOU KNOCKED THE DICK OFF THEIR GOALIE WITH THAT SLAPSHOT.
A genuine smile tugs at my lips.
ME
MAKES ME FEEL SO MUCH BETTER. I BET THE ZAMBONI BARELY NOTICED THAT COCKTAIL SAUSAGE.
The Steamrollers are a team made of small-dick men relying on sucker punches. Fuckers.
ME
IT’S NOT EVEN A BIG DEAL. I COULD PLAY, BUT THE MEDICAL TEAM ARE A BUNCH OF CAUTIOUS WIMPS. I’M FINE.
JOEY
YOU WOULD SAY THAT. ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS HOCKEY.
And there it is. It’s the “you’ll poke your eye out” comment. It’s what a lot of us professional athletes view as someone trying to take away our fun before it’s over. But coming from Jolie, a woman I know likes to take a risk or two herself, I know she understands on some level that life isn’t worth living without a little danger.
ME
ISN’T IT YOU WHO SAID THE BEST VIEW IS FROM THE EDGE?
