“Love you too, Mom.”
The line goes quiet, then she hangs up. I toss my phone onto the table, glancing back to my laptop just in time for Socks to hop up on the keyboard.
“Shit.Socks!” I groan, snatching him up and plopping him onto the ground. I point my finger at him, like he gives a single fuck about what I have to say. “Don’t climb on my stuff!”
Socks meows, probably telling me that he was here first and if I don’t like it, I can leave.
I sit back and pull my laptop onto my lap, ready to get back to work, but when I look at it, my assignment’s gone. Instead, there’s a photo stretching to each corner of the screen. My stomach lurches, and I freeze, staring at it.
It’s me. From March, during the WCHA championship. I’m in mid-shot, poised in front of the net with the puck just about to release from my stick. My eyes are locked on the goal, a fierce determination sewn into my face, even though the clock behind me shows only one second left. The arena around me is a blur, but in the background, you can see the look of pure anticipation on my teammates’ faces. Some of them are frozen mid-scream, others with hands gripping their sticks like they can already taste the victory.
The shot, the last-second miracle that sent the crowd into a frenzy and the team to the NCAA Women’s Ice Hockey Championship. It was the game-winner.
It was also the last time I stepped onto the ice.
So now, looking at the photo, all I feel is heaviness. The weight of the fact that everything I had, everything in reach, is gone, and there is nothing I, nor anyone else, can do to bring it back.
I slam the laptop shut, the force of it startling Socks as the image burns behind my eyes. I bury my face in my hands, something hot simmering deep inside my chest as a teary breath slips out. It’s crazy how love magnifies everything. Happiness, anger, grief. It feels ridiculous, grieving something that was never alive, but I guess that’s how hockey made me feel.
Alive.
Socks meows from the side, and I groan, lifting my head up to see him hop up onto the couch beside me. He purrs, rubbing his head against me, before setting a single paw onto my leg. I push him away, half-heartedly. “Not now, Socks.”
But he doesn’t listen, of course. He simply plops down, all thirteen pounds of him curling onto my lap. And something about the warmth of his tiny body, the rhythmic pressure of his kneading, lightens the weight, just a little. I lean back, my body sinking into the pillows of the couch. Maybe I am grieving, or maybe I’m just stuck in the past. I know change is inevitable, but how do you let go of the very thing that made you who you are?
Socks purrs loudly against me, and I hate to admit it, but it’s nice. He might be a pest, but I’m suddenly a little more understanding of why Cleo loves him so much. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing, letting the soft kneading of his paws ground me.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. Sitting in silence. Reliving the past.
But eventually, the stillness becomes too much. It’s just hockey. It’s just a game. But it wasmygame, my identity. And now it’s gone. There’s nothing I can do to get it back.
… is there?
Four
Peyton
FINAL CHAT FR THIS TIME
CAPTAIN CLARKE
Goooood morning ladies! Quick reminder that we’re starting in the training room with Kaiser at 6.
Also LNHL Countdown: 18ish weeks
BRADY
What?!
HAMMIE
Shittttt I forgot
YERSIE
Yeah so I’m actually coming down with something. Don’t think I’m gonna make it.
Z
