The blades beneath my feet, the stick in my hand, the pads wrapped around my body, they all once used to feel like an extension of my body but now feel foreign and uncomfortable. The open holes on my mask suddenly feel as if they’re closing in, restricting the air from my lungs until it feels like I’m breathing through a straw, and I pull it off in a panic.
“Hey, take a breath. Look at me.”
I can’t. I fucking can’t.
“I need to go,” I say, dropping my mask and stick to the ice and skating toward the boards.
“Luke, get back here. Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing left to say.”
I don’t turn around. I don’t look back. Almost as if on autopilot, I walk to the locker room and strip. It’s blissfully and achingly silent as I throw my street clothes back on, grab my bag, and leave. If I was in a better state of mind, I might look around. Might take it in one last time. Try to memorize everything from the framed memorabilia on the walls to the names of my teammates on each of the lockers. But I can’t.
The drive home is a blur, but somehow I make it back to my empty home.House.
It hasn’t been a home for quite awhile.
I carelessly toss my keys and phone onto the counter, a string of texts from Elle I don’t want to answer.
Elle: It’s been over a month and you still won’t talk to me?
Elle: After everything we’ve been through I think I’m owed more than this
Elle: Are you seriously done? That’s it?
Elle: Fuck you Luke.
Elle: I’ll sign the papers and then I want nothing to do with you
The rage, the disappointment, the helplessness, it crawls up the back of my throat, demanding to be purged. It explodes in a fury, and the house is the easy target. The bookcases lined with photos and trinkets I’d collected from traveling the country are first. Glass shatters as I throw frame after frame on the ground, my shoes crunching over the shards as I move to the next shelf and the next. Photos of Elle, photos of us, photos of our families, friends. None are spared to the wreckage.
My marriage, my career, my life, all gone in the span of a few seconds when my face hit the ice. When it’s over and I stand amongst the ruins of my life, I don’t feel better. The anger is still here, a rumbling beast in my chest, but it’s oddly comforting. There’s a bit of peace in the fury.
So I’ll find solace in that until it eventually turns to indifference, and hopefully one day, acceptance.
The pain behind my eyes is constant as I trod my way through the wreckage to my freezer, pull out a bottle of whiskey, and drink myself to sleep. At least in unconsciousness, I canforget that the thing I loved the most is no longer going to be a part of my life.
15
Luke
Present
Lennon watches me like I’m a wounded animal she’s scared of spooking, and it makes me want to break something. It’s the same way Elle looked at me after the incident. Pity, sadness, trepidation. She didn’t know what to do with that version of myself.
I didn’t either.
I’m still learning to.
“You tried to come back after it?” she asks, genuine curiosity coloring her question.
I nod once. “Only made it through one practice on the ice before I knew it was over.” It sounds like I didn’t try, like I didn’t give it enough time, but when you know, you just do.
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t track the puck.” I lean against the weight rack, letting it shoulder some of the burden. “One of the effects of my concussion,” I clarify. “That’s gotten better over the years, but at the time, it was insurmountable.”
“Yeah, that’s kinda important for a goalie.” Lennon laughs softly, and despite everything, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
