I don’t rush her, I don’t try to force her to let go. I sit back, allowing her the space to choose to trust me, fully prepared to carry her if she’ll let me. She has before to varying degrees, like in the hospital where the jagged edge of grief was expelled violently, but this is something entirely different. Quieter. A silent purge that rises to the surface with such cunning one might not see it coming if they weren’t paying attention.
She quiets some, so I ease my lower body away, whispering, “I’ll be right back. Gonna grab a towel,” then I wait for her small nod before moving from the bed. I return quickly with a damp cloth and a towel, make quick work of cleaning her before wrapping the cloth in the towel and tossing them both on the floor.
I adjust her clothing, then scoop her up, pulling her into the cradle of my body. I use my arms, my legs, the weight of my body on top of hers to convey the safety of my love.
She clings to me, tears silent, my whispered words my solemn vow. “I got you, babe. I got you.”
44
GAME OVER?
REN
Just when Ithink I can't feel any older, a picture of me as a baby pops up on the Jumbotron screen.
The crowd gives a collective “aww,” and my teammates immediately start razzing me on what century that picture was taken. I suppose I should just be relieved that I'm at least wearing a diaper. Though I'm sure Cassidy handed that picture off to the people in charge, she would've had to get it from my mother, which means she's in big trouble.
It's not every day you celebrate your birthday on the ice. Especially your 40th birthday when you’ve spent more than half your life as a professional hockey player.
I'm not allowed too much time to dwell on it when change up is called, and I hit the ice, making a sprint for center ice. All this birthday nonsense does is give new ammunition for the opposing team who are already mimicking boohooing and baby bottles.
Of course, it would help if the announcers would quit mentioning my milestone birthday. Making sure to get as manydigs in as they can on how well old man Rafferty is performing, whether I make the play or not.
It's bad enough the younger players like to thumb their nose at us old timers, but even worse are the men that are close to my own age who like to pretend that they're not.
One such asshole has been riding my ass this entire game. What's funny is that I could skate circles around him on a bad day. The only thing preventing me for giving him a run for his money is the fact that it'll put us off track and Coach will murder me.
There again, I am fucking old, and I'm kind of out of fucks.
What also doesn't help is that I know one of these guys pretty well. Adam and I played for the same team for quite a few years, but then he got himself in trouble and almost washed out completely. When I decided to buckle down and keep my eye on the proverbial puck, he decided to fuck off and almost ended up out of the game for good.
Why he has held a grudge on me for this long is beside me. The whole idea that he can drink a bunch of poison and expect me to die is foolish, but some people never learn.
Sure enough, I catch him out of the corner of my eye barreling down on me. I just manage to pivot out of the way, but no sooner do I circle back around than I see him coming at me again. I attempt to stop short so he'll check himself into the boards, but one of his teammates was right on my ass and knocks me forward, so Adam collides with me, hard.
The impact takes some of the wind out of me. His teammate who got me from behind, gives me another shove and then Adam kicks my skates out from under me and I fall to the ice with Adam falling with me, sneering, "That's right old man. Fucking lie down already."
Doing my best to pretend I haven't had the wind knocked out of me, I jerk my head to the side, cracking my helmet into hissharply. He tussles with me a bit and then takes off just as Dave appears by my side.
Dave struggles to drag me up onto my skates and then Warren is there at my other side, waiting until I'm stable enough for him to skate off. Dave leans in and says, "Keep your shit together, man. You end up in the penalty box not only will that be the game for you, but you could have other penalties, too. There isn’t enough time for that shit.”
I finally manage to take a full breath and I croak, "That isn't necessarily a bad thing."
Dave gives me a knowing look and then takes off. I'm shaking my head, clearing the residual spots in my vision and then I take off after him watching our defenders go to work, anticipating the next play.
Sure enough, the puck breaks free and goes zipping up the ice, but Warren's right there, scooping it up with his stick. Dave and I both make a break for it, at a dead sprint toward the goal with Warren coming up the center, no defenders in sight.
Warren passes to Dave, who's just ahead on the left, while I stay back on the other side turning to back pedal as I watch the defenders doing their best to bum-rush Warren who’s now making a beeline for Dave.
The two of them slap the puck back and forth a couple times, but then Warren slaps it back to Dave before jacking the brakes, stepping off toward me, magically wide-open right in front of the goal.
Warren inserts himself between me and the defenders, giving me that split second opening to receive the puck so gently from Dave's stick. It floats to me on a cloud, directly into the forward momentum of my stick as I drive it toward the goal.
The horn sounds on the score; Dave, Warren, and I already skating off in different directions, fueled by the excitement of a good play but knowing it's too early for a celebration.
Crash.
Caught completely off guard, I'm jacked into the boards, my inability to brace myself taking all the wind from me. Adam’s right there, his body keeping me upright as he's pushing me into the boards he spits out, "You always were a fucking pussy."
