~~Drakos~~
My slump has lasted twenty games? That must be a record for me and not the type of record a pro hockey player strives for. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without a goal. It’s so uncharacteristic of my game, but I’ve been off lately thanks to Aria and her constant criticism. I know it’s not fair to blame her. In reality, it’s all on me. I’m a professional who shouldn’t let criticism by the media get under my skin, yet I’m only human.
I avoid Aria for the next couple days. I’ve caught glimpses of her at breakfast in the hotel restaurant, sitting in the lobby, and enjoying a glass of wine in the bar. Each time I’ve slunk off like a thief in the night, making a quick exit before she sees me. I have to admit I’d rather she attack me than some of the other guys on the team. I can take it better than most, though that’s not necessarily accurate considering my crappy performances of late.
So far, she hasn’t mentioned the incident between Koko and Bubba, but I don’t trust her. Perhaps she’s compiling more damaging information and will expose us all at once. What if she accuses me of sexually harassing her? Not that I was, but the truth has never stopped her from making up shit. The team doesn’t need this kind of drama. I vow to stay away despite my unwanted preoccupation with her. And I am in trouble here. If I’m not concentrating on hockey, I’m thinking of her. It’s ironic that I’ve gone from wishing she’d disappear to wishing she’d sleep with me and then disappear.
Shaking off thoughts of Aria’s luscious lips and incredible body, I board the team bus for tonight’s game. We arrive late to the arena because of traffic, and we rush to get ready. She’s the last person I should be thinking about as we prepare for the biggest game since the Icehawks’ inception. Of course, in the playoffs the next game is always the biggest game.
My former team were and still are the perennial losers of the league. As a result, I have very little playoff experience, which is true of most of the Icehawks players, though not all. For example, Wild has won two Stanley Cups, and we expect him to provide leadership as we navigate new territory for the majority of us.
I’m lacing up my skates when Dash steps to the middle of the locker room and commands everyone’s attention. We stop what we’re doing and look up.
“I’ll make this brief. Let’s prove the doubters wrong. Let’s show the world we belong in the playoffs. Most importantly, let’s go home with at least one win out of two. We can do this, guys.”
We shout our agreement as Dash returns to his stall. We’re fired up, and we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.
A few minutes later, I step onto the ice for warm-ups and am blown away by the volume of the capacity crowd. The noise makes Colorado even tougher to play against, hence the term “home ice advantage.” We’ll get our chance, but we need to win one of these games and keep Colorado from gaining momentum we can’t counteract.
I skate large circles and attempt to get in the zone. As I approach the area behind the net, I spot a familiar face in a sea of hostility. Aria’s occupying a seat on the glass. She’s dressed in an All Hockey News polo, which looks damn sexy on her. I slow as I pass and salute her. She waves a hand in response. Her brilliant smile lights up every corner of my world and gives me renewed energy and determination. For reasons I won’t admit, I’m motivated to show her I can be the star the team needs me to be.
The game is everything we’ve expected—rough, intense, and a defensive battle. In the middle of the third, the score is two to two. I’ve been all over this ice like a madman with assists on both goals, one by Kirby and one by Dash. My linemates have stepped up their game, too, and we’re showing the league we’re a first line to be reckoned with.
My confidence soars as the puck drops with five minutes left to play. We’ve got this. I feel it. Kirby nudges me as he skates by. I wink, and he nods before turning all business.
Then our game fucking falls apart.
Roman is caught on the wrong side of the net for an easy Colorado score. Will “Ollie” Oliver is out of position and blocks Roman’s view for another score a few minutes later. Then Colorado’s star center delivers a laser between Roman’s legs. I don’t think there’s a goalie in the league who could’ve stopped that puck. That last score with a minute to go puts the final nail in our coffin. We’d fought hard, but we let up in the last five minutes and lost two to five.
The locker room is solemn after the game. No one’s talking much. I might be known as team DJ, but even I can’t think of appropriate music for this moment unless I want to be a real downer, which I don’t.
Every guy here is currently being hard on himself. I see the frustration on their faces. We’re doing the same thing, dissecting the game in our heads in an attempt to figure out what each of us can do better.
I had a good game considering how off I’ve been, but the best game in the world doesn’t override my dejection from our loss.
Coach enters the room, and I look up, not sure if we’re in for a butt-chewing or a pep talk.
“Boys, I’m proud of every one of you.”
Definitely a pep talk.
He continues. “You fought hard until the final buzzer. You gave everything you had. Luck wasn’t on our side this time. Our pucks didn’t fall in the net like Colorado’s did despite several close ones. We’ll get them next time. Take time this evening to go over game video. Look for little ways you can improve. Then forget about this game and face forward. Best-case scenario has always been that we return to Portland tied one-one. Let’s do it.” He claps his hands together. Several of us nod our agreement. A few guys clap.
Satisfied, he leaves the room.
Dash speaks next. “Let’s get some sleep. No partying tonight, boys. You can party all you want when our season is over, but let’s not hurry it along.”
“Yeah,” says Wild. “We have to be 100 percent committed.” The young guys perk up when Wild talks because of his two rings. I can’t blame them. I’m not in awe or envious of Wild, though, but I do respect him for what he’s done in his career.
“Anybody in for a game of poker in my room?” pipes up Braden Slater. I’m pretty sure he’s itching to help our rookies part with their money. Several guys indicate their interest. I’m not one of them, though I’m usually all in when it comes to cards.
I’m one of the last guys off the bus at the hotel. I’m not sure what I want to do. I’m not ready to go to my room, but I’m not in the mood for a lot of company either.
I head toward the bar when Kirby stops me.
“Where you going?”
“For a nightcap. Wanna join me?”
