Dropping his head, he let out a ragged sigh.
My next shift out, I managed to win the puck in the corner, but when I looked to pass it up, there was no one free in sight. I pushed the puck up myself, striding toward the blue line, but still scanning to pass. I deked around a guy, shocking even myself that I still had the puck on my stick. I could feel the crowd’s excitement. I had almost a clear path to the net in front of me. Pushing my already burning legs, I skated up faster, feeling my jersey billow back behind me. Right as I was about to take a shot, I was clobbered from behind, and my faceslammed to the ice.
I instantly knew something wasn’t right.
My ears rang as I stared down at the ice. I was shocked to see blood on the white surface. I hadn’t registered yet that it was mine.
I couldn’t even be mad at the cheap-shot from behind. It was my own damn fault. I was the one who’d been giving out shitty hits all game. Kappy was right. They had my number, and they got me back.
Rolling up to my knees, I held my face as I skated off to the tunnel, completely ignoring the brawl going on behind me.
_________
After getting my jaw wired shut that night, I laid there staring at the hospital ceiling feeling like I was being sucked down a deep and dark vortex of regret and self-pity.
The only thing that saved me that night was a text from Hans that read:Heard the bad news, why don't you come home for a few weeks and work here? I could use the help.
Forty-eight hours after my surgery, I skipped painkillers to be able to drive home. I was in pure agony the whole four hours, but as I drove back to Michigan, back to Ali, something settled in my chest.
My first day of work back at Centre Ice consisted of mopping the walkway between the East and West rinks. While it was a shitty job that would get ruined as soon as the high schoolers came trudging through the rink later in the day, I was just happy to have something to do other than drinking my meals through straws and staring at the TV.
“JP?” Ali’s voice had me turning around, searching for her. She rushed around the hockey nets deposited beside the zamboni entrance. “Hans said you were back here. What happened? Why aren’t you with your team?”
As soon as she spotted me, her hands flew to her mouth in shock. I couldn't blame her, most of my face was still swollen and bruised.
“Broke my jaw,” I managed to say through all the wires keeping my jaw in place. My whole face was still in pain with every little movement, telling me I probably should’ve still been taking pain meds.
Her face crumpled in dismay, making me feel lower than low. She immediately rushed at me for a hug.
Wrapping my arms around her, I closed my eyes, welcoming the only comfort I truly wanted.
“I’m so sorry for our fight,” she said into my chest. “I hated not talking to you.”
“I’m sorry too,” I forced out.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking up at me with concern. Her hand went up to the side of my face, gently touching me.
“Missed your touch,” I said. The truth made me feel vulnerable, but I had to say it. I needed to try to stop being scared when it came to us.
“You did?” She gave me a little bittersweet pout. “And here I always thought I was annoying you with my touchiness.”
I shook my head.
She smoothed her hand up my face again. With her touch, she brought me the first peace I felt in a while.
“How’d it happen?”
“Cross-check to the back of the head. I went down pretty hard,” I managed out. “It was my fault.”
Her face creased. “And you broke your jaw?”
I nodded. “Here and here.” I pointed out the breaks.
“Oh no, your pretty face.” She pouted.
I laughed, then immediately winced because too much movement hurt.
She looked so sad that it killed me. I knew I’d say or do just about anything to make her feel better. “No big deal, just needs time to heal.” I shrugged, hoping to dull her sadness.
