I was slow today. My timing was off. I let shots in that I’d easily deflect any other time. Buddha told me to meditate, and Goat said to shake it off, and not let it mess with my head. It’s sound advice. I played great last night, so the coaches don’t seem fazed that I’m a little off my game today. A couple of the other guys were there to skate or shoot pucks, but nothing formal. I doubt anyone even noticed my fuck-ups, but I can see them all clearly, and I’m replaying each one in my head. Huh. Guess I’ve learned something from my dad.
I’m headed back to the hockey house to catch some much-needed sleep, until Noah, our newly-elected assistant captain, calls my name as I’m leaving the rink. I turn in his direction because I’m not a total asshole, but I don’t want to have this conversation. In fact, I don’t want to have any conversation. I just want to sleep. I got maybe four hours last night, which is not enough, but when you pair that with a three-hour drive on each side, it’s a shitastrophe.
I stand at the door to the practice facility, waiting for Noah to catch up to me. “You good, Briggsy? You weren’t yourself out there, at least from what I’ve seen.”
“Yeah, I’m good. It was a rough one, but I’ll bounce back.”
“No doubt.”
And if I don’t, then Zac will get my spot and Toronto will see what a colossal mistake they’ve made by drafting me.Jesus. Where did that thought come from? And since when does the voice in my head sound just like my dad? I need some serious sleep.
I just want to crawl into my bed and crash for a couple hours. Some guys can handle late nights and changes in schedule, but I am not one of them. I’m all about structure, and when I don’t stick to it, my body lets me know.
But still, I’d do it again. I mean it’s not like I sucked in actual practice, or god forbid, a game. And besides, Paige needed me.
“Your slower pace wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you drove to New York and back in the last what, sixteen hours?”
I look at him questioningly. “How’d you know about that? And anyway, don’t you have goats to milk?” I joke, hoping to steer the conversation away from what’s going on in my head.
“That’s a morning chore, city boy.” he smirks. “JD said your girl was stuck somewhere and you hauled ass to go get her. Look, no judgment, man. I’m just checking to see if that’s all it is, or if you’ve got more on your mind.”
I blow out a breath. Jesus. This guy can see into my soul, apparently. “No, I’m good. Just tired,” I say. And for some stupid reason, as if my Alternate Captain has found the key to getting me to open up, I keep going, “I mean, I’m technically property of the Blaze, right? But that doesn’t mean they have to call me all the way up. So that means I should stay and finish my degree. Unless they want me before that. But even then, shouldn’t I finish school? I mean, I’ve only ever wanted to play hockey, but… I don’t know. It’s a freaking tug of war I have no control over. And if my dad texts me one more time to tell me their back-up goalie needs replacing, I may lose my goddamn shit. So, yeah, that’s all on my mind, but right now, the biggest thing on my mind is my pillow and a blanket.”
“I get you. Go home, get some sleep. Drink a smoothie and all will be right with the world.” I keep forgetting, this guy was born and raised in L.A. He attended ASU before coming east to grad school and even if he is a converted farm boy these days, my eating habits don’t phase him a bit. “Seriously, get some rest and try not to think about it so much. When they call you up, it’s your choice to stay and finish your degree, or start your pro career. And Briggsy, when the time comes, you’ll know what to do. You gotta trust your instincts, man. They haven’t let me down, at least, not on the ice.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, waving to him as I walk to my car. It’s one of the few that remains in the lot. Almost everyone has left by now. For a second, I think about swinging by Paige’s dorm to check on her. Yes, I’m tired as fuck, but I’ll sleep better knowing she’s okay. Just as I get behind the wheel and buckle up, I see a text. Thinking it’s Paige, I swipe up. But it’s my dad.
Dad:How’d it go today? I texted Goat, but haven’t heard back. Like I said, you looked good last night, but Platt still deked you in the second.
My dad’s text is like a bucket of ice water dumped on my desire to see Paige. I think better of it, and head home, telling myself I’ll call her after my nap.
Paige
It’s been two weeks since my trip to New York, which means it’s also been two weeks since my parents issued their ultimatum. And they are not budging. If anything, I’m getting more calls and texts than ever. Even Nate called to see how my study group went. Yeah, my family is definitely invested in my success, and I don’t want to let them down.
But I also don’t want to go to law school.
I’m just not sure if I have any other options. Paying for school on my own sounds overwhelming, and I’m not even sure what I’d pursue. But, I guess I’ll worry about that when I get my score. The LSATs are in two weeks, and scores are released about six weeks later, in early to mid-December.
But tonight is not for thinking about my parents, or stressing about a test, or worrying about my future.
Tonight is about hockey. The Bulls have a home game and I’m dragging Emma along with me.
I’m decked out in jeans, boots, and a Moo U jersey with Spencer’s name and number on the back. My hair is in braids tied with green bows, and a #13 glittery tattoo is stuck on my cheek.
“You are nauseatingly adorable,” Emma deadpans as she walks into my room.
“Thanks. That’s exactly the look I was going for. Are you ready? And did you wear an extra layer? It gets cold in there.”
“Yes, mom. I’m all cozy and layered up.” she rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s excited because she’s been talking up the game all week.
“I can’t believe you’ve been to every party the hockey house has ever thrown, but you’ve never gone to an actual game.”
“What can I say? I love hockey players. Doesn’t mean I like hockey.” She shrugs and we grab our things and head to the rink.
The student section is loud and crowded and wonderful. I can barely see over the tall guy in front of me, but he’s giving everyone around him the play-by-play, which actually makes it much easier for me to pay attention. And this guy must be a diehard fan. He knows all the lingo and follows the puck with ease.
So, I’ve just been mimicking him all night. When he cheers, I cheer. When he’s quiet, I am, too. I haven’t gotten a good look at his face, maybe he used to play for the team a while back? Either way, he knows his shit and he’s unknowingly become my coach.
