My hotel room is too quiet.
I toss my key card on the dresser and shrug off my suit jacket, loosening my tie as I move deeper into the room. My knee is still tender, with a dull ache that moves up my thigh with every step, but it’s manageable. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. The ice bath helped, and the compression wrap is doing its job.
The physical pain isn’t what’s bothering me.
I change into shorts and a t-shirt, then sit on the edge of the bed. The loss keeps replaying in my head. That third shooter.The way he’d moved. The angle I should have taken. Over and over, like a shitty film reel I can’t shut off.
I should have had it. That’s the most frustrating part, and the part I keep coming back to. It wasn’t a question of skill. I wasn’t outmatched. I could have and should have made that save.
I reach for my bag to grab my phone charger, and my fingers brush against something small and hard tucked into the side pocket. I pull it out and stare at the tiny elephant keychain sitting in my palm.
I bought it yesterday at the airport after I saw it in one of those overpriced gift shops while waiting at the gate. The elephant is carved from some kind of gray stone, with its trunk raised up like it’s calling to the others in its herd.
Just a stupid impulse buy, but it reminds me of Heather. Of the way she collects these little trinkets and lights up over the smallest things.
My jaw tightens as I turn it over in my hand. I can’t fucking wait to see her face when I give it to her. I know she’ll love it.
I grab my phone and pull up her name, then type out a message before I can overthink it.
ME: Thinking about you right now. Are you still up?
The response comes almost immediately.
HEATHER: Yeah. Thinking about you too. I watched the game.
I exhale slowly and run a hand through my hair. Texting isn’t enough right now. I need more than words on a screen. I need her voice to pull me out of my own head the way only she seems capable of doing.
ME: Can I call you? I want to hear your voice.
Three dots appear, then disappear as my phone starts to ring. I swipe to answer before that first ring even finishes.
“Hey,” she says softly.
Just that one word, and that tight feeling in my chest starts to loosen. “Hey.”
“Rough night?”
“You could say that.” I stand and pull my shirt over my head, tossing it toward my bag. “That third shooter?—”
“Was really good,” she interrupts gently. “Grant, you stopped the first two. That’s already incredible.”
“I should have had all three.”
“Contrary to what your teammates might think, you’re not really a machine. Even you can’t stop everything.”
I move to the bed and pull back the covers, settling against the pillows with the phone pressed to my ear. “It’s my job to stop everything.”
“Your job is one of the hardest positions on the ice,” she counters. “You know that, right? Everyone’s counting on you to be perfect every single time. That’s an impossible standard.”
“It’s the standard I set for myself.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “You’re incredible at what you do, Grant. The occasional loss isn’t going to change that.”
I close my eyes, letting her words sink in even as my brain tries to reject them. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’d be without hockey.”
The silence that follows stretches just long enough that I wonder if I said too much. Then she speaks, and her voice is softer than before.
“You’d still be a good guy. Funny and sweet when you let yourself be. Amazing with April—she adores you, you know that? You’d still be all of those things. Hockey doesn’t define you, Grant. It’s just something you’re really good at.”
