A Nasty Hit
I love hockey. It has been my escape from whatever crap is going on in my life, but also my favorite way to celebrate the good stuff, and tonight I have someone in the audience cheering me on, wearing my jersey, and I fucking love it. It’s awesome when Izzie comes too, and I know Savannah often wears my sweatshirt, which is technically the same thing, but I don’t think she’s aware. Tonight though, she knows, and seeing her beside Lacey with my name on her back…it makes me feel lighter. Makes me want to play better…which I am. Two goals in two periods and the Wolves are winning.
“Is this why you like home games better?” I ask Darren while we skate back onto the ice for the third period. Lacey blows him a kiss and he pretends to catch it, like a dork, and even as I shake my head at him, I kind of want that.
“Home crowds are awesome too, but…yeah. Nothing beats looking up and seeing my girl in the stands.”
“You need to focus,” Joey warns him, reminding me not to get sappy around nosy teammates.
“Do I look distracted?” Darren points to the score, which isn’t a shutout, but he’s let in one goal out of twenty shots.
I can’t afford a distraction, or anything else on my plate, but I’ve already let Sav so far into my life that she’s a distraction, no matter what we call ourselves, and making it official just saves me from being a dick for leading her on every time she smiles at me like I’m something special.
Sav has been jumping up and down, screaming like a lifelong fan, but something happened between the first and second period. The smiles don’t reach her eyes, and Lacey looks worried about her. Which is sweet in theory, but I really don’t like it in practice.
I try to catch her eye, then mouth, “You okay?” once I have it.
She smiles and nods, but I’m not entirely convinced. Both that she’s okay, and that having her here isn’t a distraction, made a million times worse by this sense of unease in my chest.
* * *
About halfway through the period, we get the puck into the offensive zone, and after driving the net, I send it to Donovan. The goalie was clearly expecting Tanner, so he overcommits and leaves his right side open. I watch with pride as Donovan lights up the goal, right before I am shoved, hard, into the boards.
I should have been paying attention, but fuck, it was after the whistle.
It knocks the breath out of me, but my teammates rip the guy – Hannigan, number nine – off me, and I have to pull Donovan back from the brawl it starts.
We get a power play out of it, but I’m sent to the bench to be checked out by our team trainer. I already know that other than a few bruises, I’m fine.
Except I look up and see Sav, standing in her seat, looking like she wants to run down to the ice to check on me, and the concern in her eyes – for me – brings a tightness to my chest. I smile and nod, to let her know I’m okay, but she doesn’t look any more convinced by my reassurance than I was by hers.
“Put me in, Coach,” I ask for the next switch.
“That was a nasty hit,” he argues.
“That’s why we’ve got the helmets and padding.”
“He’s trying to impress his girl,” Tanner ribs me.
“She’s not—” I go to argue, but not only will that not help me in this situation, I kind of don’t want to correct him. Or for it to not be true. “She won’t stop worrying until she sees me out there,” I say instead.
There are eight minutes left on the clock, and Sav looks stressed AF.
“I won’t risk you to make your girlfriend feel better,” Coach warns.
“I’m fine. Bruised, but I just want to crush them.”
He looks at me and sighs.
“Don’t be a hero.”
We have a three-goal lead, so this is all about dominating and payback.
* * *
I skate back on with Donovan, but BU are still a man down, which makes them play dirtier rather that smarter, because they’re desperate.
Tanner shoots and I get the puck when it rebounds off the boards behind the net, narrowly avoiding being pushed back into them, which is the last thing I came out here to do.
