Four fucking losses in a row. We got swept in the second round of playoffs, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been this embarrassed. Two of the losses were in overtime, but that doesn’t change the fact that we couldn’t find a way to win.
I throw my gloves as hard as I can into my stall in the locker room, hoping it might relieve some of my frustration but it doesn’t even touch it. “FUCK!”
If I were the punching type, I’m certain there would be a hole the size of my fist in the side of my stall. How the fuck did we not win this game? Do or die, and we fuckingdied.We put everything on the line and it still wasn’t good enough. I can’t even blame anyone. Our guys were sacrificing their bodies, blocking shots left and right. Mack stopped fifty shots, for fuck’s sake. The only person I can blame is myself. Maybe I could’ve better prepared the guys. I could’ve met with my coaches more to mix up the lines. Something.
There’s cursing and sticks breaking throughout the locker room, and when I finally calm down enough to take a seat, my eyes survey the room in front of me.
Twenty of the hardest working men I’ve ever met fill the room. Most of them have their faces buried in their handswhile the others are leaning back in their stalls, wondering the same thing I am. How the hell did we let this happen to us?
As captain of this team, I lead by example. I should’ve never come in here throwing my shit around and yelling at the top of my lungs. But this sport is emotional. If you don’t play with emotion, you’re not doing it right. I’ve poured every part of my heart and soul into this game and winning Lord Stanley is a dream I’m not sure I’ll ever see coming true. I’m thirty-one, already past the average age of retirement in this league, and I don’t know how many years I have left.
The coaches have yet to come in, so I take this time to let my brothers know just how proud of them I am.
“This fucking sucks. There’s no other way to say it. Did we make it further than anyone expected? Sure. But that doesn’t matter. Losing always hurts. And losing this way…fuck, boys. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more. But I’m so damn proud of every single one of you. There’s no one I’d rather go down swinging with than you guys. Next year we come back better and stronger than ever. That Cup is ours, gentlemen. We just gotta come back and fucking take it.”
A few of the guys holler out their approval but other than that, most of them just nod in agreement.
Lincoln, Ellie, and Hunter walk in, and the silence is deafening. It takes a few minutes for Lincoln to speak, and when he finally does he doesn’t say much. He’s clearly taking this just as hard, if not harder than the rest of us.
After a few short words from each coach, they leave us to our own misery and we all get undressed. Other than a few comments, the locker room stays quiet. It takes us longer than usual to shower and pack up, but I’m pretty sure that’s because we have to get on a flight and head home, where we won’t be playing game five.
The reminder stings, and I’m positive I’ll carry this loss and this series with me for a long time.
Connor and I are the last two to leave the room, and he speaks for the first time since the end of the game.
“I know no one is really in the mood for celebrating, but I’m still excited to celebrate my favorite girl tomorrow. Four o’clock, right?”
Shit. Sophia’s party. I didn’t forget, but I hadn’t really thought about how awful the fucking timing is now. No one expected us to get swept and lose four straight games, so having her party on our day off wasn’t a big deal. I’m kind of regretting that decision now.
“Fuck.” I scrub my hands down my face and kick my hockey bag as if it had something to do with us losing. “Yeah, it starts at four. Thanks, man. I’m not sure anyone else will wanna show up after this. I appreciate you.”
Connor grabs his stuff and then grips my shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
This may be a really shitty day, but I’m extremely grateful for my best friend right now. I was a little worried about him after that night at the bar but ever since then, he seems back to his old self, which I’m extremely relieved about.
I watch as he exits the locker room and then I take a seat in front of my empty stall. Looking around the vacant room, I soak in this feeling. No one wants to lose in the playoffs, but losing four in a row hits extra hard. It’s easily one of the worst feelings in the world. I commit it to memory so I’ll work my ass off to never feel like this again.
The mood is still somber when I step onto the bus. It’s dark, the only light is from the screens of my teammates’ phones as they hold them in their hands, probably checking in with family. It hits me for the first time that there might be someone waiting to hear from me other than my parents.
Thankfully, my usual spot near the back of the bus is empty. I’m feeling more grateful than ever about seniority and not having to share a seat with a teammate. I love these guys, but I need my space, especially after a loss.
I grab my phone out of my pants and power it on. Once everything loads, I click on my message icon that shows I have three new messages.
My parents each sent me a text, urging me not to carry the weight of the loss on my shoulders and to stay positive. It’s what any good parent would do; hell, it’s what I would do, but I don’t really want to dive into a long discussion about the game so I send them both a simple “thank you” text and then click on my message thread with Sadie. There’s one text from her. It’s a picture of her and Sophia with a simple message underneath and it’s exactly what I need to see right now.
Sadie
Your girls are extremely proud of you. I’ll be waiting for you at home.
She’ll be waiting for me at home. I’ve been playing in this league for nearly a decade and I’ve never had someone waiting for me at home other than my daughter, which was more than enough for me. But as I read her text again, something blooms in my chest.
This loss still fucking blows, but knowing that when I get home I won’t have to face it alone. Well, that’s a dream I didn’t know I had.
By the time we land in Green Bay and get back to the rink to get our vehicles, it’s already after one in the morning. It’s nearly two o’clock when I pull into my garage.
Quietly, I walk through the kitchen with every intention of checking on Sophia in her bed and Sadie in the guestroom, but a small lump on the living room couch has me freezing just before I take my first step up the steps.
Sadie is curled up in a ball on the couch, her e-reader stillin her hand, as if she fell asleep while reading. The blanket she must’ve been using is lying on the floor, so I tiptoe over to her to cover her up. As much as I wish I could talk to her right now, or do other things with my mouth, she looks far too peaceful as she sleeps.
