My head jerks. “What?”
“Nikki Sullivan likes me!”
I roll my eyes.
She grins. “I like you, too.”
This hockey game is intense. It’s getting closer to the playoffs and the Storm have been on fire. But Utah is fighting hard, too, and there are all kinds of hits and checks and slashes and trips.
“Utah is playing so dirty,” Mabel says.
I agree.
I cringe as Marek and a Utah player go hard to the boards behind the Storm goal for the puck. The Utah player starts sliding and falls and Marek goes into him hard, even though he tries to stop. I wince. Marek gets the puck and skates around the net to clear it down the ice, but then… he circles back behind the net to the guy he just hit, who’s been slow to get up.
“He’s making sure he’s okay,” I say, my eyes wide and my heart quivering.
But that warm fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, because then it’s Marek getting drilled into the boards, by a six foot five, two hundred forty pound D-man. The plexiglass shakes, the boards vibrate, and the crowd cheers as Marek drops to the ice.
“Fuck!” I shout, nearly jumping off the couch.
“That was hard,” Mabel says, fingers to her mouth. “Is he okay?”
My stomach cramps. “I hope so.”
He’s still on the ice and the Storm’s trainer goes running over. A couple of our players hover near Marek. The TV guys talk all through it, but they don’t know what’s going on. Marek could be dead. Or paralyzed. No. He’s moving. My breath eases out of my lungs.
It takes a couple more minutes, which is forever when a guy’s on the ice, but then finally they help him stand and skate off.
“He looks okay?” I say.
“Whew. I hope so.”
The play continues, but I keep watching to see if Marek comes back to the bench. Finally, he does. “Oh, thank God,” I mumble, my tense muscles loosening.
Unfortunately, the other team scored twice while he was gone, and then they score once more, to win the game six-one. Ugh. Not good.
* * *
The next day, I go for a walk. All by myself. I head down to the river where the March air holds hints of spring, and walk along the path there, stopping at the dog park, of course. Watching the dogs play makes me happy. Having a pet is supposedly good for your mental health. I think that’s what’s missing in my life. I’m going to look into it. As soon as…
As soon as what? What has to happen before I’d feel like I could do something like that?
I’ve been unsettled since Mom and Dad left yesterday. Some of the things they said really got to me. Like, telling me I’m letting my fans down. And asking how I was going to move forward when the rest of my team is on the other side of the country. And saying, “you can’t hide out here forever.” And yes, letting them down bothers me, too. They’ve done so much for me.
I walk on. It’s Sunday afternoon and only a few people are down here. I turn my face into the breeze that’s so much softer now than in January. The sun feels stronger and warmer.
I made the mistake of going on the internet this morning and looking at social media. Maybe I wanted to see for myself that my fans care about me and want me to be okay. And there was that. There was alotof that, and it made my heart balloon with love. But there were also a lot of mean comments saying I obviously don’t have what it takes, I won’t even talk to my fans, I’m rude and ungrateful, my music is overrated.
Ugh. That doesn’t exactly make me want to rush back to making music.
I let things turn over in my brain as I walk, trying to make sense of it all even though I’m afraid it’s madness to even try.
I know I can’t live my life based on others’ opinions of me. I have to do what’s right for me. But also I don’t want to be considered weak, or ungrateful.
I don’t want to give up my career forever.
There. There it is.
