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The ice feels like an unforgiving expanse today. My skates cut through it, but every stride is laborious, every movement sluggish. I’m physically on the ice, but I feel like I’m miles away from my game. My head is off on some other freaking planet.
This should be just another day, another hockey game, but something is different. The weight of expectation hangs heavy in the air, a choking presence that wraps itself around me and refuses to let go. It’s not the opposing team or their strategies; it’s the incessant attention, the media scrutiny that’s disrupting my focus.
The puck races past me, and I fail to block it. The crowd’s roar fills my ears, but it’s not a cheer. It’s a chorus of disappointment and disapproval. I hear the frustration in their voices, and it echoes what I feel deep down. This is not how I play; this is not me.
How the hell can I getmeback?
Focus,I tell myself harshly, but to no avail. The only thing I can see now is the annoyance on Coach’s face as he lifts his hand to wave me over.Oh shit, what now?
Coach’s decision feels like a slap in the face. As he gestures to the bench, I skate over, trying to hide the anger and humiliation burning within me. I know why he’s doing it; he’s trying to quell the media storm, the endless attention on me, and to make everyone on the ice play better because they aren’t distracted by me. But it doesn’t make it any easier to bear.
I hate being on the bench, and it so rarely happens to me. I could fucking scream. I don’t, though, because I don’t want to draw any more focus on myself, but it’s hard.
I take a seat on the bench, my eyes fixed on the ice, watching my teammates continue without me. I should be out there, helping them, fighting for the win, but instead, I’m here, in this lonely spot, under the harsh glare of the arena’s lights.
The frustration mounts, and I can’t help but let out a low growl of frustration. This isn’t the game I love. This isn’t what I’ve dedicated my life to. The price of fame, I suppose, is sometimes the loss of the thing you hold most dear. And tonight, it’s painfully evident.
This is why I don’t like to have any involvement with the media. I fucking hate this side of things. I shouldn’t be sitting here just because everyone has fixated on me for a change. That isn’t right. My personal life shouldnotbe in the way of my professional game.
Okay, so I’m not playing my best either, but it’s all intertwined. I’d be able to focus if it wasn’t for all the other shit. This is stupid.
Coach shoots a glare my way. My emotions must be plastered all over my face. I’m giving too much away, which isn’t great when there are photographers everywhere. I don’t know if I can shut my feelings down, though, and I can’t hide any of it. Letting the media into my life when I didn’t even want to is really winding me up.
But much as I want to blame Coach for putting me in a situation I didn’t want to be in, he didn’t make me kiss Riley and he had nothing to do with me falling for her.
“Obviously, I’m being called names for kissing you, but there are people wanting to find out where I live and things like that.”
Her words keep bouncing around my brain. That was one of the worst phone calls I’ve ever had to endure, especially because I couldn’t just go to her. I’m sure, as a sports fan who also has her career based around games, she understands, but it still sucks.
If I’d known that I was going to end up here, on the bench, then maybe I would have just gone to her. I could have protected her from all her worries. Since I’ve been on the wrong end of public opinion before, every time I have a bad game or I make a mistake on the ice, I’ve had people say the worst of the worst things about me and to me online. Nothing has ever come of it, but that doesn’t mean I should dismiss what Riley is going through. I would never invalidate how this has made her feel.
I hang my head low, no longer focusing on the game as my brain unhelpfully comes up with terrible outcomes to this situation. If anything happens to Riley because of me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
“Keep your head up,” Coach growls at me as he rests his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let them get the better of you. Don’t let them see what they’re doing.”
Is he being reassuring or just thinking of the team and our image? I guess it doesn’t matter. I know what I need to do, whether I like it or not. I need to keep my head up high and make sure my team still knows that I’m on their side. That next time I get on the ice, I’ll be better.
I don’t know if Riley will be watching the game on TV somewhere, but I want to show her that I’m being strong for her as well, that I meant what I said, and I will protect her no matter what. I don’t know what’s going to happen with us; we haven’treally been forced to think of it until now, but I still want to be there for her, and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it seems like she might still be writing her article about me.
Although, at this point, I really wish she wouldn’t. I’d rather the whole thing be canceled because I cannotstandthis attention. It’s way too much.
***
The changing room is a mixture of heavy silence and the subdued sound of teammates trying their best to console me for being benched. They pat me on the back and offer words of encouragement, but the weight of the day’s game still clings to me like a shroud. I appreciate their support, but there’s a hollowness in my chest that won’t fade.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my bag, and I know what’s coming. The headlines are already popping up on the Internet: negative attention, scathing articles, and armchair critics who are relentless in their judgment. I’ve faced pressure before, but this feels different. It’s a storm I’ve never been in.
As I scroll through the headlines, unable to stop torturing myself, they pierce through my defenses. ‘Alex Barrett’s Fall from Grace,’ ‘Hockey Star’s Worst Performance,’ ‘Is He Past His Prime?’ The comments sections are even worse, with people tearing me apart, questioning my dedication and commitment, and bringing Riley into it, as if this is her fault.
Great, I guess I’ve just made things a million times worse for her. Not ideal.
But for me, I’ve never had to deal with this kind of negative attention, and it’s disorienting. The media shitstorm is intense, but I have to stay strong, not just for myself but for my team andthe fans who still believe in me. I can’t let this consume me or let it define who I am.
“You’ll show ‘em,” Benjamin tells me as he looks over my shoulder. “Fuck this noise, I wouldn’t worry about it. I know it’s hard at the moment, but we’ve all been through things like this. It sucks, but it’ll get better.”
I give him a grateful smile, but I don’t feel any lighter inside. When this stuff is just directed at me, it’s bad enough, but I know it’s also going to hurt Riley which sucks.
“Sorry for my performance out there,” I grumble back. “I know I let you all down. I should have played better. I messed up.”
