I let my forehead fall into my hand and close my eyes. “Sure, yeah, sounds good.”
“Hey, I gotta run, but it was good to talk to you, man. I’ll text you the details, and let me know if you need anything, alright?”
I infuse as much energy into my tone as I can. “Can’t wait. See you later.”
Shame crawls up my throat. I let all my relationships with my old teammates, my best friends, fall apart when I retired. I couldn’t stand that they were all still able to be doing what they love, whatIlove, and I couldn’t. It was unfair to them, but they all served as a reminder of the life I lost.
And it hurt to see how quickly I was replaced. How soon the team moved on, the league, the fans, the media. Everyone. I get it. I mean, it’s not like one player makes the whole team. But I just thought…I don’t know what I thought I guess. It’s how the sport goes.
Teammates get traded, injured, sent down to the AHL, or retire. Everyone’s replaceable. I guess I just never imagined myself being one of them until I was.
The sight of my untouched pasta turns my stomach, and I dump it in the garbage. I quickly change into shorts and a T-shirt, put my headphones on, and take off for a run.
I’ll run until I exhaust myself to the point where I stop thinking about the version of Luke that people turned to when they needed that little boost. The one who felt good doing it.
He died the moment I was wheeled off the ice.
9
Lennon
We lost our first game. 3–1.
Coach Maver keeps telling me to shake it off. That we have the rest of the season ahead of us. But it’s like my mind can’t stop replaying every single goal I let pass.
One of them I really couldn’t do anything about. It was redirected and tipped in over my shoulder, completely changing trajectory.
The other two, though…I should’ve stopped them.
And we were playing the fucking Northwood University Penguins. They’re a team that we swept every single game last year.
The night after our game, I allowed myself to wallow for a bit, lamenting to Mason until he told me he was going to fuck the complaining out of me. Now at the start of a new week, I’m over it and hungry to do better for our next one.
That’s exactly why I find myself sitting in one of the rink’s conference rooms with Coach Holloway and Grace, watching footage of the UPU Glaciers, our opponent this upcomingweekend. They have a strong first two lines that will prove to be challenging, but they lack depth in their third and fourth lines. Their special teams also tend to crack under the pressure, but I’m not underestimating anyone. Not after last weekend.
“Thirty-five’s fast,” Grace murmurs, eyes locked in on the same player I’m watching on the tape. She whips down the ice, weaving effortlessly between the other players. There’s no hesitation when she shoots and sinks the puck right between the goalie’s legs.
I mutter in agreement. “Think Maria can keep up with her?” Maria is one of our best defensive players.
Grace shrugs. “She’s got a shot.” She glances over at Coach as if she’s going to ask him a question but shuts her mouth when it appears that he’s sleeping. I’d like to say I forgot he was ever here, but his presence is hard to ignore. Even when he’s not doing anything.
I braid my hair while we keep watching the footage. We still have practice after this, but I asked Coach Maver if I could watch before it. Grace ended up tagging along, just in case, and then Coach Maver assigned Coach Holloway to watch with us.
Clearly, he’s doing a great job.
“Are you going to Mason’s tonight?”
“Why?” I arch a brow at her. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”
Her cheeks flush. “No, just wondering.”
“It doesn’t have to do with a certain hockey player you might be wanting to invite over and have the place to yourself?” I ask teasingly.
She darts her eyes around nervously, but it’s only us, and it’s not like Coach Holloway is listening in on the gossip. “He’s just coming over to watch a movie.”
“Suuuure.” I smile, happy for her. “Tell Bryant that couch belonged to my grandparents, so watch it.”
Grace pinches my shoulder.
