I break out of the penalty box and barrel across the ice, straight for the melee taking place behind the net.
Tex Williams, my co-captain, shoves the defender in the chest, but the massive lineman doesn’t budge.
Tex has him tied up, but he can’t get the puck away. I wedge my stick into the fray and poke the puck free from the boards.
I take off down the ice, staying on my skates despite a strong hit across the shoulder blades. A defender rushes at me, but Max Storm, Jared’s fraternal twin brother, comes flying across the ice and shoulders him aside. Between Max and Jared, the guy has no chance of catching me as they sandwich him into the boards.
I flick the puck over to Arch Morrison, our starting left-winger. Arch advances it up the ice before sending it back to me just to the left of the net.
I switch my stick from my right hand to my left and hammer the puck in one motion. It takes off like a line drive, just past the goalie’s outstretched arm, narrowly squeezing inside the crossbar and over the red line.
“Goal!” The play-by-play guy screams over the loudspeaker.
My teammates mob me as the buzzer sounds and time runs out. We won the game by one goal, and we’re now firmly in first place in our division.
I skate off the ice, my gaze automatically going to the stands.
I know where my father sits if he comes to town. But he’s not there. Nobody is. My brother and his wife are away, and my cousins weren’t able to make it tonight.
I swallow down the feeling of emptiness in my gut as Coach Tucker gives me a high-five on my way to the locker room.
Reporters mob me while I make my way down the hall to the lockers. I manage to avoid taking any interviews. But Ed Pells, the most obnoxious journalist in hockey, finds me as soon as I reach my locker.
“Great game, Wild.” His microphone’s already in my face, and the camera behind him won’t let me tell him to fuck off like I want to.
So I flash him the fake smile I’ve learned to give to the media, and I thank him.
“You seem to be playing with a lot of emotion this year,” Ed states. “Does this season have any extra significance for you?”
I fight a grimace, managing to keep my expression neutral. “Every season is significant to me. I’m a professional athlete who wants to win.”
“But the rumor is this may be your last year with the team, possibly the league,” Ed presses on. “What do you say to those rumors?”
I grab my towel out of my locker and look straight at the camera. “I say no comment.”
“My sources tell me you may be going into ownership,” Ed continues to press me. “Any truth there?”
Brushing past Ed and the cameraman, I ignore all of the other journalists crowding around me. I lock my gaze forward and push ahead through the throng. When I reach the sanctuary of the showers, I duck inside and turn on the water, letting the hot spray run over my sore back.
Every year is different. Every team is unique. But this year, what I privately believe will be my last,isspecial. It’s also terrifying. Because when I retire, I’ll be jumping off a cliff into the great unknown.
I’ve never known anything other than ice hockey. Since I was a kid, I used it for everything. To compete, to get out my pent-up energy, to make friends, and to try to get my father’s attention. That last one never panned out the way my little brother, Cameron, thinks it did. He believes I got all the gold stars from our dad and he didn’t because he never wanted the pros badly enough.
But that’s where he’s wrong. Getting genuinely positive attention from a man like Tyler Wild isn’t possible.
I close my eyes, letting the water beat down on my shoulders.
* * *
When I make it back to my locker, the reporters have cleared out, and Arch and Tex are still standing by their lockers on either side of mine.
“Yeah, I said yes!” Arch laughs, his mop of wavy dark hair a stark contrast to his Irish-blue eyes and pale skin. “Do I look stupid to you? We’re talking about the cover model for Sports Magazine!”
Tex pulls off his t-shirt and rolls his eyes. “Arch, you’ll fuck anything that walks. Do you and this model have anything to talk about?”
“Who cares?” Arch says. “I don’t plan on doing much talking tonight.”
Jared and Max join us on their way back from the showers. “I didn’t know you knew how to have a decent conversation,” Jared throws over his shoulder at Arch.
