Because it’s a hockey game.
Blue Ox versus Chicago.
And there he is.
Number 7. Brody Kane. On the ice.
The camera follows him for a moment, and I forget how to breathe. Yeah. He still has that effect on me.
I pick up the remote, my thumb hovering over the button to change the channel. I should turn it off. Really, I should. But…
He’s in his defensive position. Skating with that focused, controlled power I saw against Vancouver. Except something’s off. When the puck comes his way, he makes the hit against the boards, but the puck is passed off.
The ref blows the whistle, and Brody skates to the penalty box, looking fierce.
The camera zooms in on his face.
And he looks absolutely wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes. Jaw tight. A darkness in his expression, one I don’t recognize.
No more Mr. Candy, clearly.
The announcer’s voice cuts through my spiral. “Kane’s defensive game has been brutal this past month.”
The color announcer says, “Yeah, but he’s racking up penalties, and now Chicago has a chance to score. He needs to learn to balance if he hopes to stay an asset to this team and close the deal on his contract renewal.”
My throat is tight. Eyes burning.
I know exactly why he’s playing as if he’s got nothing to lose.
Maybe because he’s already lost everything?
I abandon the pizza. Walk to the couch. Sit down.
Can’t look away.
Blue Ox loses. 4–2.
The announcers are already talking about the next game. “They face Chicago again tomorrow night in the second game of this back-to-back series. Let’s hope Kane can shake off whatever’s bothering him and get his head back in the game.”
I turn off the TV. Silence rushes in, pricking my ears.
I look at the publishing letter still sitting on the counter.
Look at my sketchbook on the coffee table. It’s sitting on top of my Bible.
Which of course tugs at me. I pick it up, and it falls open to where last Sunday’s bulletin is marking the page with this week’s verse printed at the top:
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9
I read it once. Then again.
Give up.
“All right, God, what are You trying to show me here? Because I’m lost.”
The silence stretches, fills the room with a holy stillness. And I listen. I wait.
I close my eyes, my heart slowing, settling. My fingers trace the edges of my Bible, fidgeting while I wait, then catch on a sharp edge.
