“If you could flip a switch and go back to being that machine—the guy who didn’t have anyone to worry about, who only thought about hockey—would you?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it again.
Would I?
Would I trade what I have with Heather and April to get back that single-minded focus? To not feel this constant ache in mychest when I’m away from them? To stop checking my phone every five minutes and actually sleep through the night without waking up in a panic?
“No,” I say finally. “I wouldn’t. Not for anything.”
“Even if it means your game suffers?”
“Even then.” I meet his eyes. “Hell, Noah, if it comes down to it—if I have to choose between hockey and being able to take care of Heather properly—I’ll walk away from the game. The career. All of it.”
Noah looks genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“For Heather? Of course.”
Noah is quiet for a long moment. Then he claps me on the shoulder with a grin.
“You know what, Grant? This is a good thing.”
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “How is any of this a good thing? I’m falling apart. I can barely focus. I’m letting the team down?—”
“You’re not falling apart. You’re becoming human. And having something that matters more than hockey isn’t a weakness. It just means you have a full life. A real life off the ice and outside of the game.”
I want to believe him, but the doubt is still there, gnawing at me.
“Look,” he continues, “you need to learn how to channel this. Use your feelings for Heather and April to motivate you on the ice. Play for them. Protect the net for them. Let them be your reason to be great, not your reason to fall apart.”
“And when I’m with them?”
“When you’re with them, leave hockey on the ice.” He makes it sound so simple. “Learn to separate the two again, but in a different way. Not by being a machine, but by being present. When you’re at the rink, you’re a goalie. When you’re home, you’re Heather’s partner and April’s—whatever you are to April.”
“We’re still working on figuring that part out.”
“You’ll get there.” Noah stands and picks up his gear bag. “But the most important thing is to remember why you’re doing this. You’re not just playing hockey anymore. You’re building a life, and that life includes the game, but it’s not only the game. Not anymore.”
I nod slowly as I take it all in. Everything he’s saying makes perfect sense, but I have a feeling it’s also easier said than done. That’s okay, though. Nothing good in life comes without a challenge.
“Use them as your motivation,” he says again. “Not your distraction. Every save you make, every game you win—it’s for them. It’s to give them the life they deserve and the security they need. But you can’t do that if you’re burning yourself out worrying every second you’re not with them.”
“So what do I do?”
“You trust the security you’ve put in place. You trust Heather to call you if something goes wrong, and you trust yourself to be there when they need you.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “And you remember that the best way to take care of them is to take care of yourself first. That includes not having a breakdown in the middle of the season.”
After he leaves, I sit alone with his words echoing in my head.
Play for them. Let them motivate me instead of distracting me. Leave hockey on the ice when I’m home. Be present.
If Noah can do it—if he can balance loving Margo and playing at the top of his game—then maybe I can too.
I have to try. Because he’s right about one thing.
The best way to take care of Heather and April is to be the best version of myself, and that means not falling apart.
Chapter 43
Heather
