I’m not in position at all.
There’s a split-second moment of awareness that flashes that I’m about to slam into the boards, propelled by the direct hit from my own teammate and the other player. But the moment the impact hits, everything goes dark.
36
Luke
Lennon is absolutely breathtaking to witness right now. She is on top of her game and is moving with such certainty, such confidence, no one can take their eyes off her. Even with power plays and shorthanded rushes, she’s maintained her composure and has continued to shut out Remington.
The feeling I have watching her reminds me of the feeling I had when I was on the ice myself. The thrill of sending a puck into the board with a block or snapping a glove save and gaining a moment to breathe.
It’s incredible. I thought I had lost this feeling forever, but over the course of this season, she’s reignited it for me.
But as well as Lennon is playing, the rest of the game is growing dirtier and dirtier. Remington is throwing a fair share of cheap shots, and the refs are letting a lot of it slide. To be fair, the Huskies are throwing it right back. But the tension is rising to an unbearable level, and honestly, we just need this period to end. Aubrey needs to cool off, and the rest of the team needs a break.
We’re so close, down to the final couple of minutes, when one of Remington’s players steals the puck and goes racing down the ice toward our goal. Aubrey is tangled up with her the whole way. Elbows are flying, and their sticks are hitting each other as much as they are the ice.
They’re flying at full speed, and as they cross the blue line, I wait for one of them to pull back. To slow it down. Lennon is obviously waiting for that too and falls back in the crease even to give them a little more room.
But they don’t stop.
They don’t pull back.
And in what appears to be sickening, horrifying, slow motion, the two of them barrel into Lennon at full speed. The impact sends her backwards into the goal frame, knocking it loose. It’s an absolute pile up as they all go slamming into the boards, glass shaking, hearts stopping.
Because Lennon already had her back to the board, she takes the brunt of the impact, and I watch with my entire heart falling out of my chest as she crumples into a heap after the hit.
Panic swells like a tornado, and I push to the front of the bench as I try to keep a grip on reality, but it slips through my fingers.
I don’t just see Lennon crashing into the boards with a sickening thud. I don’t just see her lying there motionless on the ice as silence befalls the arena.
I see myself. I see the video I’ve watched countless times as a form of self-torture. I see me lying on the ice, motionless, stunned, out of it. And then I see the darkness that came after. The pain, the anger, the panic when I knew my life would never be the same.
I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.
But it’s not. It’s seeing it happen to the person I love. Right in front of my very eyes.
And it’s because of that that I don’t think. I don’t think about how a coach should be reacting in this moment. I don’t think about my composure and letting our team doctor handle it out on the ice.
I only think about her.
Jumping over the boards, I take off toward Lennon, my dress shoes slick against the ice, but I keep my feet under me. The refs separate a screaming Aubrey from the Remington player, while Austen gets into it with another one and more teammates get involved.
I bypass them all and kneel beside Dr. Ray as he speaks to Lennon softly. The ice soaks the fabric of my pants, but I ignore it. Nothing else matters as I finally get a glimpse of her face through her mask.
Which thankfully, is still in place.
But my relief is short-lived as Lennon’s eyes remain shut. The breath in my lungs catches, and I don’t know how long I hold it. It feels like hours, but I’m sure it’s only moments. But it’s like my body forgot how to function properly through the flashing images in my head of the past and the present horror of Lennon lying here now.
I’m too scared to touch her, so my hands flutter uselessly, searching for a purpose, for a solution, and coming up blank.
Dr. Ray leans over and repeats Lennon’s name.
After a few more sickening moments where I think I might throw up right here on the ice, Lennon finally stirs. I lean closer to see every single line of her face come back to life.
But when she opens her eyes, it’s clear she’s still very much out of it. She blinks, eyes vacant and hazy, missing all her spunk and ferocity she usually has behind them.
“Baby,” I say, forgetting myself, the audience, my surroundings. None of it matters as she whimpers, and thesound cleaves my heart in two. “I’m right here. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
