Thankfully, Coach is understanding. He gives me a slight nod and I turn toward Felton.
The locker room is quiet. I can feel the frustration, but I have a feeling everyone can see that Felton isn’t well right now. A three-year-old could see it.
Crossing the space between us, I climb onto his lap. His eyes open and he stares at me in surprise. I know we have the audience of the entire room, but I can’t let that deter me tonight. Felton deserves a certain level of privacy, but we don’t have that luxury right now. And more than anything, he needs to know that he’s safe. He’s not alone.
Leaning into him, I press my forehead to his. “They’re not here,” I murmur. “I can ask for security to assure you if that’ll help.”
He swallows. Then takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
“They aren’t here,” I repeat. “They will not hurt you anymore.”
His breath is shaky as he nods. His hands land on my legs and he pulls me closer.
“What do you need right now?”
Felton shakes his head. “Maybe Marion should take goal,” he says.
“We have plenty of time to come back,” Willits argues from my right. “You got this.”
“You’ve saved a lot of shots,” Denny insists. “They’ve made something like fifty-six shots, and they’ve only managed six goals.”
“That’s more than ten percent,” Felton says with a frown. “I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.”
“I think it is,” I retort, pressing my lips to his sweaty neck. “You’re fighting a lot internally and have still managed to block more than eighty percent of their shots, Fel.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t want to let you down.”
“You’re not,” Zenia promises before I can answer. He drops onto the bench next to Felton. “We all need to get our shit together. This is a team sport and we’re not doing very well keeping the puck in their zone or making shots. If we stepped up our game, it wouldn’t be so heavily on you to carry us.”
I smile because while some of that’s true, it’s not all true. Meeting Zenia’s eyes, he gives me a smile. I appreciate what he’s trying to do, and further appreciate no one arguing with him.
We’re not in the business of being soft so we don’t hurt each other’s feelings. But I think everyone knows, especially with the bit that I’ve just volunteered, that Felton isn’t just having an off night. His struggle is deep right now.
“Thanks,” Felton says after a minute.
I sit up and look at him. He gazes over my shoulder and I know he’s looking at Coach. It’s confirmed when Coach asks, “Do you feel like you’re up to finishing the game or would you like to sit out?”
It’s kind of him to give Felton a choice. But Felton doesn’t like choices. I feel him tense under me right away.
“Stay in the game,” I tell him. “You don’t have to prove to anyone other than yourself that you belong there. Remember—it’s me, you, our team, and hockey. That’s it. Everything else is just noise.”
Felton takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. Just us, our team, hockey. Okay.”
I remain on his lap, holding him against me while Coach talks to the rest of the team. Zenia wasn’t wrong. We need to get our shit together and play like a fucking team who’s done this once or twice. Ten days off was far too fucking long.
We still lose in the end, which none of us are surprised about. Colorado made thirty-one more shots, while we made eleven. Yep, that’s how off a night we were having. Of those thirty-one shots, Felton let in one. Though if you ask anyone on the team, itshould have been taken back for goalie interference since one of their players was literally in Felton’s fucking net while the puck was half a dozen feet away.
Refs, man. You’d think four on the ice would be enough. In case anyone’s wondering, most of the time, it’s not. They only see what they want to see.
While Felton’s quiet after the game, I’m really loving our team when they all show him support after. I know they’re bummed and frustrated with the way the game went, but they put in a lot of effort not to let Felton feel it to the fullest effect.
We get back to the hotel and head upstairs immediately. I’m glad he hadn’t made plans with anyone after. I’m not sure what friends he has on other teams, but apparently none in Colorado.
It’s only as I’m stripping out of my suit while I think about the teams he has friends on that he meets while we travel or when they’re in town, do I realize it’s not random. Vegas, L.A., Buffalo, New York, Philadelphia, Washington—they’re all teams that have out players. I guess I hadn’t realized they were all friends.
I’m glad he has them, but I’m more relieved that he doesn’t have any in Colorado right now. I’m not sure if he’d benefit more from a friend tonight or being here with me.
He’s moving slowly, so I help him along and pull his clothes off for him. He sighs, letting me. I hand him a pair of skimpy underwear that he slips into and then nudge him into the bathroom to go through his nighttime routine while I straighten up our mess.
