Page 44 of Hat Trick
I wish I fucking could, because seeing you so mad at the world hurts, I almost shout.
Anger simmers off of him when he rolls the gel liner into place and positions his limb in the socket. My heart breaks when he can’t get the pieces lined up the first time, but I don’t volunteer to help. What the hell kind of assistance can I offer someone who doesn’t want my help? Who doesn’t want to be around me?
I keep my mouth closed, disappointed when he stands and rocks his hips from side to side. He fixes his shorts and ties his shoes, heading for the door in a cloud of irritation. Starting my mornings with him have been the highlight of the last month, and I that quiet joy slips away with every step he takes.
“Have a good rest of your day,” I say, not wanting to leave things like this, and he hesitates for half a second.
I wonder if he’ll turn around and give me another shot, but he doesn’t. He jerks down on the handle and storms out of the training room, and everything feels darker when he disappears.
* * *
I dropinto a chair at the table where my girlfriends are waiting for me and let out a groan after walking to the restaurant in the crisp October air. “I need a drink.”
“What happened to starting a conversation with hello?” Emmy closes her menu and grabs the pitcher of beer in the center of the table so she can pour me a glass. “Are you afraid your comedian won’t be as funny the second time around? You poor thing.”
“Please don’t tell me he makes jokes about the sex you have at his shows,” Piper deadpans.
“That’s slimy. I’ll kick his ass,” Maven adds.
“I haven’t been to any shows, so I couldn’t tell you if he did. And I’m a knockout in bed. I’m not worried about him having anything negative to say.” I take a long sip of the alcohol and drop my head back. “It’s been a rough day, and I feel like a complete bitch for saying that.”
“This is a safe space.” Madeline Galloway, Hudson’s girlfriend and recent addition to our group, squeezes my arm. “You’re allowed to vent and talk to us about what’s going on in your life.”
“Riley and I have been working together on his recovery for over a month now and…” I bite my lip. Frustration threatens to break in my voice, but I swallow it down. “It’s more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“Is it because you’re working with an injury you’re not familiar with?” Piper asks. “I’m sure that must be challenging.”
“Kind of? This is the first time I’ve worked with an amputee, but I’ve done extensive research to make sure I’m handling his recovery gracefully and in the correct way. I just don’t want to fail. Not because of how it’ll reflect on me, but because of how much Riley wants everything to work out.” I take another sip of beer and set the glass down. “I’m used to working with people who want to be there so they can get stronger, and Riley would rather be anywhere else. He’s still mad at the world—and rightfully so—but he’s not giving me anything to work with. He’s started skipping our sessions, and an hour ago, he stormed out of the training room because he failed one exercise one time.”
“Poor guy,” Emmy says. “He must really be going through it.”
“Have you talked to him?” Piper asks. She’s always so levelheaded and pragmatic when I start to feel emotional or worked up. “Maybe he doesn’t know he’s acting that way.”
“He knows, and he’s being a dick about it. He’s allowed to have a chip on his shoulder, but I thought we were getting somewhere. When we went to dinner together after the preseason opener, it seemed like he was turning over a new leaf.” I rub a hand over my chest, an ache that stings like a bruise settling beneath my shirt when I think about the frustration on his face a short while ago. “Guess that’s not the case.”
“That must be hard,” Piper says. “And I see it from both sides. You’re totally valid in your frustration. This is a job you were given, and it’s hard to perform your job correctly when the other person doesn’t meet you halfway. I can also understand why he’s reluctant to show up. Grief isn’t linear. Some days are good. Some days he has the energy to give his full effort, and other days he probably struggles to get out of bed. Sounds like he’s been having a string of those struggle days lately.”
“We help people because it’s the right thing to do,” Maven says. “Even if they don’t want to be helped, we have to keep showing up for them.”
“He knows he’s never getting back to the guy, let alone the player, he was before his accident, so I bet he’s hesitant to move forward. He’s clinging to the past. If hockey was taken away from me, I don’t know who the hell I’d be,” Emmy says. “It’s my whole identity, and I’d be lost without it.”
“Some days when we’re together, he’ll have a good session where I’ll see improvements not only in his physical capabilities, but in his morale too. He’ll laugh and joke and give every ounce of effort he has. The next day, though, he’s scowling and acting like he hates everything in the world,” I say.
“Give him time,” Emmy explains. “I’ve played with guys who have had their livelihood snatched out from under them because of a serious injury, and the aftermath is almost always more brutal than the original accident. Riley has to find himself again, and until he does, you’re going to be in the line of fire.”
“You’re right.” I pick up a menu and sigh. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you all. I need to respect his privacy like I would with anyone else. It was nice to vent, but can we pretend like I didn’t say anything? I want him to feel comfortable around me, and gossiping behind his back was shitty and unprofessional.”
“That was in no way crossing a line,” Piper assures me, then pats my hand. “But it’s forgotten.”
We order our dinner, and conversation shifts away from me. Piper fills us in on how her offseason promotion from rinkside reporter to color commentator is going. Emmy shows off the bruise from her game last night, a mark just below her collarbone. Maven hands over her phone so we can gush over photos of her son, and Madeline, award-winning chef she is, shyly mentions the website she’s going to start that will feature her favorite recipes.
The food is good. The alcohol tastes better than the glass of wine I had alone in my apartment last night, and I’m so glad to have the chance to catch up with them.
We’re all busy with life and work and a hundred other things with a higher priority like relationships and kids, and I never want to take the time I get with them for granted.
I didn’t have a lot of girlfriends growing up. When I started working with my ECHL team, there were a couple wives of the players I got along with, but it never felt like a permanent thing. It was surface-level friendship, a night out here and there, but not people I could spill my guts to. The same happened in the AHL, but when I ended up in DC, lightning struck. I met Piper, and that was it.
I’ve gone from one best friend to four, finding the kind of support system I’ve always wanted. We’re each other’s cheerleaders. There’s no competition, no jealousy. We celebrate our wins and mourn our losses together without any sort of resentment when things go right for someone else.
