Normally, conditioning shuts my brain off because all I'm focused on is the pain, exhaustion, and routine of it.
It’s simple.
But right now? It doesn’t work.
Not when Peyton fills my thoughts every few seconds.
Like right now. I see her laughing in my kitchen before stealing a piece of garlic bread from my plate. She fell asleep against my chest, a blanket tucked around her, while the fire crackled nearby.
Jesus Christ.
Coach points toward theblue line. “Again.”
We skate. Hard.
Suicides.
Backward transitions.
Goalie movement drills.
Butterfly recoveries.
Explosive pushes across the crease.
Sweat burns down my neck beneath my gear while my lungs feel like they're being torn apart.
Good. Maybe exhaustion will finally shut my head up.
But it doesn’t.
All I can think about is Peyton waking up alone at the cabin, wrapped in the blanket I tucked around her before I left this morning. Still wearing the stained sweater because we got too busy in the bathroom to remove it properly.
Maybe Thelma can get the stain out. I’ll ask her.
Coach fires another puck toward the net.
I stop it cleanly.
Another one follows immediately after.
Then another.
Bodies crash the crease while Jake attempts to screen me. I shove him backward hard enough that he almost eats shit on the ice.
“Jesus Christ!” he barks.
“Move.”
Connor skates past, laughing. “Brother’s fighting demons today.”
If by demons he means emotional attachment, then absolutely yes. And I have no idea what to do about it.
Coach blows the whistle sharply. “Again.”
The drills get harder. Faster. More brutal. And the worse my body feels, the calmer my head becomes.
Until my phone buzzes inside the bench area during a water break.
