I can take a hit on the ice without blinking. I can stand in front of a hundred-mile-an-hour shot and trust my body to do what it’s trained to do. This, though—this quiet, this feeling like I’m dropping balls I’m supposed to keep in the air—it gets under my skin in a way nothing else does. There’s no system for it. No play to run. Just me, sitting on the floor of my kitchen, trying to convince myself I haven’t already screwed something up I can’t fix.
“Fuck.” I press my hands to my face, blotting out the sunlight.
A warm, wet nose nudges at my hand. Shutout snuffles, blowing his snot all over me.
“Gross, dude. Don’t lick me—ah, goddamn it, not the balls!”
Shutout persists, trying to fit all sixty-four pounds of his bony ass into my lap, even though his legs are almost as long as my arms. He does not fit, and yet, he sits.
“Get off me, you big noodle.” I wriggle my way out from under Shutout, who has decided to play possum. It’s much more difficult to feel sorry for myself when I’m wrestling with a stubborn mutt whose silver whiskers make him look like a distinguished grandpa.
I finish my meal prep, paying the snack tax to Shutout every step of the way. My phone buzzes on the counter with a barrage of texts, but I don’t let myself look right away. I’m not ready to read through another wall of frantic texts from my mother, only to be told that she doesn’t want my help.
When I finally sit down to eat my lunch and scroll through the messages, though, only one of them—three heart emojis, no text—is from my mom. The rest are from my teammates.
Lenyx:Want me to Venmo your bail?
Viktor:As your team captain, I advise you to avoid speaking to an officer without an attorney present.
Knight:Wait, do you have an atturney?
Knight:Do you need an atturny?
Knight:Owen, blink twice if you need an atornie.
Viktor:Wtf, Knight, I spelled it right on the first try. Are you on drugs?
Knight:Define drugs.
Lenyx:Looks like Knight might need an atty. too
Knight:you cheated!!!!
Tristan:Settle down, guys. The last thing we need is for another player to get in trouble right now.
Tristan:…too soon?
Bowen chimes in with a GIF of some guy losing his mind in a Walmart.
I stab my fork into my tuna steak and shake my head. These guys are absolute menaces. I should feel better reading through this. Normally, I would. This kind of nonsense is exactly what cuts through the noise in my head after a rough game. Today, it barely dents it. They’re talking to the version of me they see in the room, the one who shrugs things off and keeps it light. Not the one sitting here replaying last night’s split-second decision like it’s going to give me a different answer the tenth time around.
Owen:
Adler:He’s alive!
Adler:Aliiiiiiiive!!!!
Tristan:That joke would be funnier if we were talking about Viktor.
Tristan:Cuz, you know.
Tristan:Frankenstein.
Knight:Wait, the monster was the one who was alive.
Tristan:I mean. The doctor was alive.
Tristan:Up to a point.
