A LITTLE STRESS RELIEF
CORBIN
I remember it with stark clarity.
The way the puck slipped by me when Riggs passed it to me last year in our final playoff game. It was one of countless mistakes we made in the first round of the playoffs—the round we never left. From missed shots to slow skating, we were never in sync. But we also didn’t do enough. As a team or as individuals.
It haunts me, but it also fuels me.
A few nights later in Vancouver, it mostly fuels the fuck out of me. Don’t want a game like that again. Don’t want a season like that again. Don’t want a chance like that slipping past me one more time.
Especially since my mind is never far away from Mabel. I have to work even harder than usual to make sure my focus stays squarely on the ice when I’m on it.
I’m fast and aggressive in the first period and the second, nabbing an assist to Riggs, collecting rebounds in the slot, and blocking shots.
See? I can do both.
And I have to.
I know what the pundits are saying. That I’m heading into the sunset of my career or that I’m already there. But they don’t know that I can handlea lot.When I started playing, I managed having an infant and a key role on the ice. Then, I handled raising a kid while helping to take care of my mom when she needed it most alongside my job. Now, I manage a middle-schooler, a demanding career, a new business, and an intense fucking obsession with my best friend’s sister.
As I’m skating toward the Vancouver net, their defenders swarm me. I catch sight of Riggs, several feet away. He’s not quite open, but he might be any second. But any second will be too late.
I drop my shoulder like I’m about to pass to him. But instead, I flick the blade of my stick around and I shoot the puck right back through my own legs and in front of me again, where none of their defenders are looking, where the goalie isn’t looking, where not even the refs are. One wrist shot later, and it flies past the goalie.
Yes!
Riggs skates over to me, jaw agape. “Did you just shoot between your fucking legs?”
“I fucking did.”
Lake smiles as he joins in. “What the fuck was that?”
It was me controlling my career. Setting the pace. Defining my legacy.
Because that’s what I need to do—play well—and sometimes that means surpassing expectations, showing everyone who I am. And that’s a guy who’s driven to win even when he’s thinking of a woman all the time, even though he can’t have her.
He really, really can’t.
Later on the plane, Riggs drops down into the seat next to me, unknotting his tie. “Hello, highlights reel,” he says.
I give a not-at-all humble shrug. “It’s good to be me tonight.”
“Sure is. But it’s good to be me too.” He waggles his phone. “Second date coming right up this weekend.”
I arch a brow. “And she knows it’syoushe’s dating? The crass, cocky, trivia-obsessed, hockey player who has fewer goals than me? Or do you wear a mask to your dates?”
He rubs his middle finger against his cheek.
“So, a mask then. Makes sense.”
With an eye roll, he answers, “You only have more goals since you’re older. I’ll pass you soon, Dad.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, maybe stand down.”
I smile, letting go of the ribbing. “Glad the first date worked out,” I say, shedding my suit jacket and my envy too. He has no roadblocks to dating Sapphire. Must be nice.
