On the ice…
As much as hockey had always been my sanctuary and my escape, it was hell now. I couldn’t separate hockey from Leif. I couldn’t find my way back to my U16 days when I played hockey before meeting Leif. From major juniors onward, apart from that half season I’d spent in the minorsafter we’d both been drafted by the Whiskey Rebels, hockey just hadn’t existed without Leif.
And now I was trying to focus on hockey when everything about it screamed his name. During every drill, I kept expecting to hear his voice echoing off the glass. In between, I was keenly aware of the empty space beside me where Leif would be standing, gloved hands on top of his stick while he rambled his commentary about whoever was running the drill. By the bench, every time I went to take a drink, I expected a shoulder in my back or a stick under my elbow as he tried to make me choke on my water. The laughed“fuck you, Early!”on the tip of my tongue had nowhere to go.
There was no hockey anymore without missing my best friend.
After one drill, while I caught my breath, I stood a few feet away from my other teammates while the fourth line took their turn. I pretended to be watching the action.
In reality…
Get a grip. Yes, he’s gone, but you have to hold it together. This team is counting on you.
Every time someone glanced my way, their brow creased with concern, it galvanized my resolve to be strong for these men.
Grieve at home. You’re their captain now.
Remember how much it wrecked them to see you that way last night?
I took in a deep breath of cold air through my nose and pushed it out slowly. I’d had this conversation with my reflection this morning.
Leif had still felt pain and fear. He’d still grieved. I’d played alongside him after his uncle had suddenly passedaway. The grief had been palpable most of the time, but once he had on his gear, he was all hockey. All focus.
He’d done it, and so could I.
Everyone was counting on it.
I was relieved to find that getting into the right mindset for a game was a lot easier than practice. Games were far more demanding, both physically and mentally. There was a lot more at stake, and this was not the time or place to be distracted.
Two nights after our home opener, we were again playing at home, this time against Calgary. I’d felt a little wobbly during the anthems, but as I joined my line at center ice for the opening faceoff, my concentration locked into place. Though I was aware of Leif’s banner high above my head, I focused on being a hockey player, and on showing my teammates that they could count on me as their captain and a top line forward.
I pulled it off, too. We won 4-2, and two of those goals were mine—a power play goal in the second, and an empty netter during the final thirty seconds. I played my heart out, and my teammates did too, and no one knew about me almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion in the showers or wiping away tears the whole way home. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us.
I can do this. I’ve got this.
That held for this game and the next three. I was a mess at home, kept it together at practice, and was probably around 95% myself during games. I could work with that.
During our sixth game of the season, though, something came unraveled.
It happened during the second period. I was still out after almost two minutes; Davis and Peyton had long since gone to the bench, replaced by fresh bodies, but I couldn’t get out of the defensive zone. Every time I tried to take off for a shift change, the action came my way.
I was gassed, but it happened sometimes. All I could do was hope for a breakaway or a stoppage.
What eventually came was a stoppage, but the relief was short-lived. The ref blew his whistle long and loud, not that single chirp that signaled a typical stop in play.
It only took a second for me to figure out why, and when I did, my heart dropped into my skates.
Eminem was on his side by the boards. Evan, our athletic trainer, was already hurrying out onto the ice, and then he crouched beside Eminem, touching his shoulder and leaning over him.
Panic surged through me so hard it almost knocked me off my skates. Then the Zamboni gate opened, and my stomach somersaulted. A couple members of the ice crew stepped onto the sheet with a pair of shovels and a bucket, though they hung back for now, watching where Eminem had fallen and waiting to be summoned all the way in.
That meant blood on the ice.
Oh no. Oh shit. Is he okay?
I craned my neck to try to get a look at Eminem, but Evan was mostly blocking him. Eminem was moving at least, writhing on the ice. Panic and anger twined in the pit of my stomach; which player had hurt him? Whose ass did I need to kick? And… was he okay?
I noticed my other teammates looking up. I followed their gazes, and on the screen, the replay was starting.
