Whatever he sees on my face has him straightening up, and he reinforces the walls he has right in front of me. “Don’t pity me.” The iciness in his tone sends chills down my spine. His dark eyes burn into my skin, and it pulls at something deep in my gut.
“I don’t,” I whisper. “I promise I don’t.” It’s not pity that I’m feeling right now. It’s…understanding.
Suddenly, his bitterness, his coldness, his disinterest, it all starts to make sense. What must that be like to have to quit the thing you love before you’re ready? To have that choice taken away at the hands of an injury?
I can’t even begin to imagine how devastating that would be, but looking at him standing in front of me, I’m starting to.
14
Luke
Past
The lights reflecting off the ice send a sharp pang through the front of my skull, and I blink at the pain. The doctor says that should get better over time, but I’m not holding my breath.
“Ready?” Coach asks, stick in hand, waiting to send another shot sailing my way.
I toss my head, trying to clear not only the fogginess in my head but the pain behind my eyes. “Hit me.”
The puck comes sailing toward my five-hole. It’s an easy stop for me. I’m quick dropping down and closing that off. But thewhooshof the net behind me is unmistakable as the puck sails through.
“Fuck!” I slam my stick against the ice and skate along the crease, head hanging.
Coach’s blades scrape across the ice as he skates over to me, but I can’t even look at him. I don’t want to see the disappointment on his face. It’s my first time back on the icewith him one-on-one since the incident, and I wanted to prove that I’m back. That I’m ready.
That I’m still the same Luke Holloway I was months ago.
But I’m not.
“Talk to me,” he states, not asks.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him honestly. “Doc cleared me. I should be ready to go. Iamready to go.” I don’t know which one of us I’m trying to convince more right now.
“Just because you’re medically cleared doesn’t mean you’re at full strength.”
I shake my head. “I’ve been doing my workouts, staying on track.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about here, Luke.” He crosses his arms and stares at me in that penetrative way of his. I’ve played under Coach Raves for almost six years now, and I know by the look on his face he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “I know you can put in the work and how determined you are. But it’s going to take time to learn how to get around your new challenges.”
Challenges. I almost spit. Tracking the puck seeming to be impossible when it used to feel as effortless as breathing? That’s not a challenge. It’s a death sentence to my career.
For the last hour and a half as we’ve been practicing, it’s only becoming more and more obvious. If I can’t track, can’t see out of the corner of one of my eyes, how am I supposed to tend goal at the same level I used to?
“I’m never going to get back to where I was before, am I?” The words feel like glass shards cutting my throat.
Coach purses his lips and looks out at the ice.
I have my answer right there. I’m only thirty, but my body doesn’t rebound the way it used to. And now having to figure out how to navigate these new injuries…if I can’t be where I once was, what’s the point?
I don’t want the final moments of my career to be a failure because I didn’t know when to walk away. When to say enough is enough.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“I’m not going to turn my back on you, Luke,” Coach says. “But I’m also not going to lie to you and tell you that it’s going to be easy.”
That you’re going to be the player you once were, are the unspoken words hanging between us in an ice rink that used to feel like home and now feels like a skin that’s not mine.
I don’t belong here anymore.
