Grace pats him on the shoulder as he passes. “Anaheim was fucking relentless. Their offensive line has really put in the work this season. We were all fighting to keep the puck away from them.”
I shake my head.And failing about half the time. We eked out a win tonight, but it was an ugly one. Grace and Romero both ended up in the penalty box, one right after the other. And I took more than one hit into the boards. We’ll all be sore and tired tomorrow.
Stiles, Bright, and I are now the veteran players on the forward line, and we need to do better if we don’t want to tax our defensive line this close to playoffs. I’m hyperaware of being under a microscope. I have a bad game and the speculation ensues. The media blames my relationship with the coach’s daughter, saying my head isn’t in the game.
Last night I didn’t do myself any favors when I stayed at Tally’s. She lured me in with pretty new lingerie and a fantasy-fulfillment request. I can’t say no to her. I’m addicted to the way I feel when I’m with her, to the connection we share. Being with her, inside her, is a level of closeness I can’t get enough of. It’s new for us, which means we crave each other all the time.
But the late-night sex-a-thon with my girlfriend contributed to tonight’s lackluster performance. I don’t want her to blame herself for my lack of restraint and boundary setting.
The coaches enter the locker room before we can get past taking our jerseys and pads off. “Grace and Romero.” Coach Forrest-Hammer’s expression is tight. “You spent most of the game helping your goalie keep the puck out of the net, but those penalties could have been avoided. We need clean play this late in the season.”
“I know, Coach.” Romero bows his head.
“I’m sorry, Coach. I’ll do better next game.” Grace looks genuinely unhappy about her disappointment.
“I’m counting on you.” She scans the faces of my teammates before looking to Coach Vander Zee. He nods for her to proceed. “Some of the offensive line were half asleep tonight.” She gives me a pointed look. “That can’t happen again. We don’t want to be knocked out in the first round. If we keep playing like this, that’s exactly what will happen, especially if we’re up against New York.”
There’s a murmur of agreement. Kodiak Bowman continues to blow scoring records out of the water every year, and it’s probable that we’ll play them in round one. If I can’t get a handle on my hormones, it could be detrimental to my team. I don’t want to give Vander Zee a reason to trade me.
Coach Forrest-Hammer praises the goals and the solid effort but pushes in on the fact that we’re not playing like the playoffs are around the corner.
Vander Zee tips his chin at me. “Can I see you in my office after you’re cleaned up?”
“No problem, Coach.”
With that, the staff leaves us to change.
“What do you think that’s about?” Tristan asks as we finish stripping out of our gear.
“Probably Tally.” She talks to her mom daily and makes time to see them every week, even if it’s just to attend her sister’s cello practice, but things with her dad are strained. She’s angry that nothing has changed. He’s still a workaholic who has trouble putting his kids ahead of his job. Last week her dad invited her to family dinner at his place, and she’s been coming up with excuses not to go.
“Everything okay there?” Tristan asks.
“She’s having a hard time forgiving her dad for not making her a priority,” I confide.
“But you make her one.” Tristan side-eyes me.
Vander Zee and I have similar schedules, but I make time for Tally. He’s failing at coming through, and all it does is fuel her anger with him. “I won’t let her down the way he has, but I know I need to find the balance, too.” I grab my towel. “I don’t want to make her a target with my poor on-ice performance.”
“We still won the game,” he reminds me.
“This time. I have to play better when all eyes are on me.”
We shower and change, and I head up to Vander Zee’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk looking exhausted. I half wonder if he sleeps here some nights, whether on purpose or by accident. I knock on his door, and he startles.
“Flip. Come on in.” He motions to the chair across from him.
“Sorry I phoned it in tonight. I know how important every game is between now and the playoffs. It won’t happen again.” It’s not just me and the team it affects anymore.
“We still pulled out a win.” He raps on the desk. “I, uh, I wanted to ask about Tally.”
“She’s pretty focused on exams and her final showcase.”
He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But you see her?”
“We make time for each other.” When I don’t have a game, and I’m in Toronto, we’re together.
“I’m worried about how much she’s pulling away,” he confides.
