Oh shit, this could really backfire for him.
I’m getting my life back while he’s risking the trust of the most important people in his life. What was supposed to fix a problem has the potential to create an even bigger one.
Chapter 5
Dexter
It’s the last game before the league’s holiday break. Everyone is ready, as usual, but there’s an added restlessness in the locker room.
As the captain, my job is to harness that restlessness into victory.
When Coach Zach finishes his spiel, it’s my turn to speak for thirty seconds. My teammates track my movements as I take my place in the middle of the room.
“We’re at the top of the division. This is not the time to lie back. We came this far, but we aren’t done. Not even close. So, tell me . . .” I pause before increasing my volume.
“Do we want to win more than they do?” I shout.
“Hell yeah!” the room roars.
“Are we leaving everything on the ice for the next sixty fucking minutes?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Tell me, boys. Are the Mavericks about to kick some Predator ass?”
“Hell yeah!”
Our cheers merge with the deafening roar of the arena when we skate onto the ice.
I don’t see them, but I feel my family and Sabrina’s presence in the building. This is the first time the four most important people in my life are watching me together on the biggest stage of the sport I love.
It’s invigorating.
Tonight’s matchup is plenty fast and a little dirty, as expected. There’s been a season-long rivalry between our power forward, Lance Jefferson, and the top Nashville defenseman, Victor Varlamov.
The NHL is a league of large men barreling down the ice at the speed of a car. Throw in sharpened blades on our feet, the largest sticks in organized sports, and a variety of vicious grudges, and you’ve got the best athletic event in the whole fucking world.
Every chance I can rock someone against the board with a solid hit, I take it. I love the physical part of the game. As centerman, my responsibilities are on the defensive as well as the offensive ends.
As captain, I must remain in control, especially when my teammates are this fired up.
Our goaltender, Jeremy, is a beast tonight. The entire team is fighting to keep his shutout, boosting our efforts to hold a 2 – 0 lead.
The win is a great start to our three-day holiday break. Everyone is in high spirits when we get into the locker room.
I’ll be out soon, I add to a text thread my wife created for my visiting family.
My wife.
I ordered them a car service on the way in, but we’ll all be driving home in my SUV.
When I exit the locker room, the first thing I see is Sabrina wearing a jersey with my name across her back. The surge of possessiveness nearly makes me choke.
She’s never worn any jersey except one with Ramirez. That’s a point of pride I’ve shared with her. She’s a professional player, not a spectator.
But with her back to me and her hair swinging in a high ponytail, the letters spelling Whitby never looked so good.
“There he is,” my father says from my right side. The sight of Sabrina made me forget everyone else, including the rest of my family.
