Her gaze wavers from the jersey to my eyes while her perfectly pouty lips slide into a brilliant smile, and she stands, taking it from me. The crowd screams a high-pitched swoony squeal, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my toes curl when she slipped the jersey over her head.
Man, she looks good in a jersey.
I’m not one to fall for this romantic stuff, but everything about Sophie makes this natural.
She’s mine.
The female squeals in the crowd become unhinged. I drown them out because there’s only one voice I need to tune in to. Besides, it’s timeto skate.
Hockey is always fast, but tonight’s game is sloppily speedy. I start off missing an easy pass, giving the puck to the other team.They score a goal in the first three minutes. Boos ripple along the wall from all the home fans supporting us.
I heave a violent breath and steal a glance at Sophie. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat, dialed in, wearing my slip up in the cringe on her face. It’s been a long time since I had someone special watch me play.
Sure, my family catches the games when they’re televised, but with the distance they rarely make it to an arena. They work, and I have bills. I promised myself that when I make it big in the NHL, I’m flying my parents out to every game. Until then having Sophie here fills a piece of that support I’ve been missing, fueling me to try harder.
It is only one missed pass.
I’ll make it up.
Just as those thoughts cross my mind, the puck flies right by me, and the opposing defenseman snatches it up.
My jaw drops, and I crouch and speed up, racing to catch him. I lost my focus for a mere second but it’s too late. The puck is en route, flying toward our goalie. I start pleading in my head.
Stop it!
Stop it!
Stop it!
And it’s in!
Louder boos thicken the air, and I give the hardest eye roll ever.
This can’t be happening.
Two goals in five minutes.
It doesn’t get any better. We are down three by intermission—all my fault—and I’m so mad I can hardly speak when we break. Coach Carlson’s hardened gaze gives me a once over, but I bite back any harsh words. I only have myself to blame tonight. I didn’t get here when I needed to, and my mind wasn’t clear.
The second period is a true blood bath, as I vow to take the lead. I should be scoring goals, not giving them away. When I miss another shot again, the puck rattles around the boards and right into their possession. I muster every ounce of speed I have to catch him. I fly in front of him and start to skate backwards, jabbing at the puck with my stick. We continue to battle for the puck around the back end of our goal, and when I finally get my stick on the puck, it slides into the corner. As he skates over to resume control of the puck, I make a split decision and crosscheck him hard. There’s no way he’s taking another puck from me.
I already knew it was coming. The ref whistles the play dead, and I’m sent to the penalty box for two minutes.
Coach Carlson stands on the bench, arms crossed over his chest, his neutral expression fixed on me. When my time is up, I jump up, hungry to make up for my loss, but Coach calls me back to the bench.
I fight with every thread of dignity I have not to protest the call, and I skate over to take a seat on the bench.
For therestof the game.
Hockey is always loud, but losses echo the heaviest.
When the final buzzer blares, my vision goes blurry, and the crowd’s protests wind hauntedly around my head, and I feel dizzy.
Dissociating.
The team skates off the ice, and I remain in my spot warming the bench, letting all the losing sounds settle.
Hockey is a team sport.
