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I’m not an outgoing person. Before Sonya, I barely dated. I met her, and within weeks, I knew she was the one for me. When I lost her, I didn’t think I would ever find that kind of connection again. But June makes me feel like sunshine is on my face. Everything is lighter, happier… easier.
I’m not sure what that means in the future. But I’m not the type of person to let the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time slip through my fingers.
As the singer finishes, the crowd cheers. I shake my head to clear it. Now isn’t the time to think about that. I have a team to lead and a game to win.
The puck drops, and I focus on the game. My mind clears, and I become a machine, moving by muscle memory. We’re facing our biggest rivals in game one, and the tension is palpable. The game is fast-paced, and we’re neck and neck from the start. But I feel confident, in control. The lines I helped Hargreeves plan are working as well as I could have expected. During the first intermission, we’re ahead one to nothing, and I wonder if maybe we have a legitimate chance this year.
In the third period, though, we’re tied at two. I have a chance to score. The puck comes to me, and I don’t hesitate. I take the shot, and it sails past the goalie’s outstretched glove, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thud. The crowd goes wild, and I feel a rush of pride. This is what I’m good at. This is what I was born to do.
No sooner did the lamp light for my goal, but I take a hard hit from my right. Since I’m still in my follow-through, it catches me in the lower ribs, and I can feel the burn of pain shooting along my side.
I hit the ice, and the crowd boos. Gasping for air, I roll to my side. I need to get up, but my chest is tight. Every breath feels labored. I see the medical team head toward me, but I don’t want that, so I wave them off and get to my feet by sheer force of will and skate to the bench.
I can’t leave the game. Not now, not when we’re so close to winning and not this early in the season. I’m the captain, for fuck’s sake. Sure, I’m not young anymore, but I’ve learned how to power through some discomfort. I nod at my teammates, signaling I’m okay.
My side aches, but I grit my teeth, taking deep breaths, and refuse to acknowledge the pain. I wait for the coach to send me back in. When he finally does, I step onto the ice, feeling the adrenaline surge through me. The pain is still there, but I can bear it.
We’re ahead by one goal, and the clock is winding down. I feel the pressure of the game mount on my shoulders. Everyone is counting on me to lead us to victory. I scan the ice, searching for an opening. Then it happens. The net on the other end of the ice is empty, the other team having pulled its goalie for an extra attacker in an attempt to tie the score. The puck comes toward me, and I hit it hard, sending it soaring toward the opposing team’s net. Time seems to slow down as I watch it glide through the air, my breath held in anticipation. It hits the back of the net, and the crowd erupts into cheers.
There are only twenty seconds left. We’re up by two, and the other team’s hopes of winning evaporate. The seconds wind down, and at the final buzzer, we’ve won.
I skate over to my teammates, my chest heaving with exertion but also with pride. We huddle together, congratulating each other. I exchange a few high fives and pat a couple of backs.
We form a line in front of our goalie, congratulate Huck on a game well played with fist bumps and hugs, skate to center ice to raise our hockey sticks to salute the fans, and then head through the tunnel into the locker room. On my way through, I catch June’s eye again.
She beams with happiness as Tabby cheers. My chest tightens, and it has nothing to do with the hit I took earlier.
It’s because of my girls.
June
Whenwegethomefrom the game, I let Tabby have a bowl of ice cream. She won’t want to go to bed until Duke gets home, anyway, and he’s probably still a half an hour behind us, so we have time.
It’s her favorite treat, but I need something sweet and comforting myself, so I fill a bowl of cookie dough, too. I’ve never watched a full hockey game in person before. When I took this job, I looked up highlights from last year’s Tyrants season. But seeing it on a small screen, when the people are tiny and far away, doesn’t have the same effect as watching it live.
The game moves so much quicker than I expected. Duke and his teammates skate so fast, I almost couldn’t see their puck passes. And the checking? I guess it makes sense the hits are hard if they’re moving at high velocity, but I didn’t expect the brutality of it. When I saw it on television, I had a panoramic view. Nothing prepared me for how it would feel to watch Duke go down on the ice, right in front of me.
The hit he took stole my breath, like I’d been the one who absorbed the shock of it. When he lay on the ice, stunned, I wanted to throw up. Then there was the anger. How dare that guy hurt Duke? I yelled for a penalty—it had to be a late hit; I was sure—but there was nothing. As Duke stumbled to his feet and skated to the bench, I wanted to hit someone, too.
I couldn’t figure out how to process it all, and I still haven’t come up with anything by the time Duke walks in the door. Tabby, who has already finished her ice cream, runs to Duke and clings to him. He lifts her up and kisses her forehead. As he leans over to put her down, though, I notice his wince.
“Great game, Daddy,” she tells him. “We had ice cream to celebrate.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just want ice cream?” he teases her.
“June did.” Tabby points to me. “It was her idea.”
I laugh. “Tattletale.”
He shrugs out of his light jacket, favoring his side.
“How are you doing?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t notice the quiver in my voice.
I mustn’t have hidden my anxiety well because Duke’s face grows serious. “Little sore,” he says, his hand going to his ribs.
“It looked bad.” I’m trying not to sound too concerned. He’s not mine to worry about.
He nods. “Yeah, but it’ll be fine. It’s just a bruise.”
