My heart stops.
“How long until I’ll be cleared to get back on the ice?”
“Let’s just get you into recovery, then we’ll talk.”
I freeze, struggling to breathe. I don’t know who I am without hockey. I need it. My head drops as my mind starts racing with all the things this could mean – and it doesn’t look good.
…
Everyone has left now and I’m the last one at the arena. I’m sitting alone in the locker room, my mind running through that final play, over and over.
My phone is blowing up to the point I have to turn it on silent. All of my friends and acquaintances checking in, showing concern.
“Tough break, man.”
“You’ll get ‘em next year, buddy.”
“You good, dude?”
I quickly flick through the messages, seeing a particular person is missing, but I don’t let my mind dwell on that before I spot multiple notifications from my sister, Gigi. It would have been nice if any of my family, outside of my sister, showed some concern.
[3 MISSED CALLS FROM GIGI]
Gigi
Holy shit, Lev. Are you okay?
Please call me when you can.
Levi????
Please let me know you’re fine.
I sigh to myself. It’s too soon to deal with any of this, including Gigi. I just don’t want to hear it.
I go to silence my phone, before deciding I can’t leave Gigi worrying.
Me
I’m fine, Gi. I’ll talk to you later.
Once that message is sent, I switch over to airplane mode, and decide I’d better get home and ice my shoulder soonerrather than later. I grab my hockey bag awkwardly with my left hand and walk through the hall, heading out.
The physical pain is bad, but mentally it’s worse.
Who am I when I’m not on the ice?
I unlock my car and get in, turning it on to get the heater going. This is going to be the most challenging off season yet. I need the next few months to pass so I can get straight back to my purpose. Honestly – my lifeline. I need hockey.
…
SCARLETT
I switch off the TV, my apartment turning darker, the lamp creating a soft glow throughout the room. Silence fills my apartment, broken only by the distant sounds of the traffic below. I wasn’t too sure why I watched the entire game. I'm not even from Seattle, having moved 12,500 kilometres across the Pacific, a month ago, but there’s just something about hockey, specifically playoff games, that draws me in. After their captain was injured, the team was down for the count – it was hard to watch.
Moving from my couch slowly, I make my way through my apartment to the bathroom to brush my teeth when I hear my phone ring. Jogging back out to the living room, I pick my phone up from the table and glance at the screen: unknown number. What random person is calling me at ten-thirty on a Sunday night? I spot the Seattle area code so I decide to answer, placing the phone on speaker as I walk back through my apartment to the bathroom.
“Hello, this is Scarlett speaking.”
