“I’m going to give you a massage.”
I do as I’m told, easing onto the carpet in front of the couch.She hums as she gets into place, cracking her knuckles before she gets to work rubbing my shoulders.
“You are tense ashell,” she says after a second.“You’re gonna need to take your shirt off.And that’s not just an attempt to look at your perfect shoulders.”
That comment makes me smile.I lean forward, tugging my shirt off, and the feel of her cool hands resuming their work makes the marquee in my head crack for just a moment.
“God, that feels good,” I sigh.
“Good.We’ve gotta unwind all this stress you’ve been carrying.”
“Life is about to get more stressful,” I say, “if they don’t renew my contract.”
“I kind of know what that’s like,” she says with a sigh.“And it sucks.So I hope that’s not the case for you.But I don’t think it will be.”She rubs her hands along my neck, finding little knots along the way.“Let’s hope they renew your contract for another term.How long is that?”
“Six years.”
“Okay.So if you play six more years…what’s after that?You can’t play hockey professionally for the rest of your life.What’s the plan for when you’re done?”
“I’ll probably do more youth league style stuff.And…I don’t know.Start a family?Do all the things I haven’t been able to do with the career.”
“So it wouldn’t be a horrible thing if you stopped playing hockey at the professional level.”
My stomach twists at that.“I’m not ready for that.I’m pushing thirty-one.I need to get myself set up.I’d be fucking lost if this goes away now.Even though it’s not the easiest lifestyle, I want it.”
She’s thoughtful for a moment, her hands digging into a knot at the base of my neck.“What’s the hardest part about the lifestyle?”
My eyes drift shut as I focus on the magic her hands are working along the tense spots of my back.“I’m just gone.I can’t be a part of anybody’s life in a real way during the season.Forget birthdays, anniversaries, dinners.I’m out.I can’t even think about anything that isn’t hockey.”
Her thumbs work a path down the sides of my spine.“So how do the other players do it?”
“Do what?”
“Have families or partners or…”
“They don’t.At least not well.Ask any WAG.”
“WAG?”she asks.
“It stands for wives and girlfriends.And they’ll tell you: it sucks.Why do you think the divorce rate for professional athletes is so much higher than the national average?Last I heard the average was pushing 80%.Nobody wants to be with a guy who’s absent and checked out mentally.”
“What I’m hearing is that 20% of spouses are fine with it,” she says with a laugh.
“They’re the delusional ones.Or they’re willing to put up with it.”
She goes silent but I can’t tell if she wants to add more.Maybe it’s just my desperate heartbeat thumping along, urging me to say out loud the part I keep hidden.I can’t have it all.If I push for more, life will take something away.
But I keep my mouth shut.
“How are you feeling?”she asks into my ear a moment later, squeezing her way down the sides of my arms.
I rest my head against her belly.“As good as I can right now.”
“Well, we took care of approximately four knots, so I think that’s a good start.”She drapes her hands around my neck, resting her chin on my head.“You’re so busy helping everybody else.Somebody’s gotta take care ofyousometimes, you know.”
“Thanks, Case.”I squeeze her wrist, feeling a beautiful moment of peace despite all the reasons I shouldn’t.This feels too good.Too right.
My phone vibrates, pulling me out of the thoughts I shouldn’t be dwelling on.It’s my sister.Casey unwraps herself from me and reaches for her beer while I check out her text.
