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Arden
After a long, grueling shift on the ice, I skate to our bench, where I hop over the boards and unhook the strap on my helmet.
Slipping it off and handing it to the trainer, I tell him, “Something feels off around the chin area. It’s rubbing on the right.” I rake my fingers through my jet-black hair, wet with sweat. “Can you check it out?”
“I’m on it, Arden,” he replies as he turns away from me, helmet in hand.
As he gets to work on the wonky strap, I squeeze in between Hayden Harrington and Nils Sten. Both of them play on the top line with me. I’m positioned at left wing, while Nils is on the right and Hayden is at center. It’s a good combination with lots of chemistry. That’s why, as a unit, we score a lot of points.
But not so much tonight, which sucks since it’s game seven in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs and a must-win for us to move on.
“Damn, this team doesn’t look tired at all,” Hayden remarks, shaking his head. “And this is the second overtime.”
“You’re not kidding,” I scoff. “I’ll tell you one thing. I sure am feeling all of my thirty years right about now.”
That makes both of my linemates laugh, as they think I’m joking. Too bad I’m not. I really do need this brief reprieve off the ice to recover.
When it comes to a hard game of playoff hockey, even when it is only in the first round, I’m learning thirty is definitely not the new twenty.
My birthday was a week and a half ago, right when this series between us, the Atlanta Thunder, and the Tampa Bay Lightning—which has been dubbed The Thunder and Lightning Battle—got underway. My teammates threw me a big surprise party at the new home Hayden and his fiancée, Addison, has just had built.
Their house is right down the road from mine—just a stone’s throw, really—so tricking me into coming over was easy. Hayden just said he had a heavy piece of furniture he needed help moving.
I fell for it, and the minute I walked into their place, I was met with raucous cheering, falling balloons, bursts of confetti, and shouts of “Surprise!”
There was also a big black-and-silver banner—our Thunder colors—strung up on the wall.
It read
Happy 30thBirthday, Arden!
It was a good time, and I swear everyone was there, pretty much all of my teammates and a lot of the staff too. Good thing Hayden and Addison have a big-ass house, much like my own.
Both are redbrick structures with black shutters and a lot of land. We own so much between the two of us that we’re the only houses on our little country lane. I suspect it will stay that way.
Lately, though, I’ve been questioning why I bothered having such a large home built on a big, expansive property. I mean, it’s not like I’m married or have children. Or even almost married, like Hayden.
Fuck, he and Addison will probably have a house full of kids running around all over the place within the next few years.
Me, I’ll surely still be alone, forever a “confirmed bachelor.”
Hey, maybe I can be the lonely “uncle” next door.
Wait, I’m not lonely. I like my life this way.
That’s what I always tell myself, but do I?
Hmmm, something to think about…
But not now, as the trainer just returned my helmet to me, and my linemates and I are about to hit the ice again.
The third line comes off, and we jump over the boards. Instantly, we’re battling with our opponents for the puck. I come up with it and adeptly avoid the defenseman covering me.
Quick, evasive moves are one of my specialties.
Immediately, I start down the ice with my teammates trailing, but not by much.
Okay, this is do-or-die time, as the next team who scores wins the game, and thus this series.
