“Hey. Congrats on the boy.”
“Thanks,” he smiles.
“Is everything okay?”
He shrugs. “They put Sylvia on bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy. She’s freaked out now.” Scotty sighs. “We never thought we’d have a kid of our own, you know? I keep telling her that since she’s pregnant, things will be fine. That we’re not worrying about what ifs. But now, they’ve put her on bedrest and every time she calls me between now and when that baby boy comes, I’ll wonder if it’s a good call or a bad call.”
“I get it,” I say, though I’m sure I don’t understand it on the same level he does. After all, he’s the one going through it; I’m not. “We’re here for you, you know.” He nods. “And I’m sure the women won’t mind popping in and checking on her throughout the day.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. She might want to see someone other than our moms.”
I hope everything goes well for him. He’s a good guy and he definitely deserves it.
“Hayes!” Coach Mike shouts. “What the fuck are you doing out there? Your turnovers and penalties led to three goals!” All of this happened in one period. I’m not sure I’ve ever been singled out like this. At least, not so clearly in recent years. “Get your shit together!”
That’s what I said to Deanna, too. Maybe that’s what she’s doing. I hope so. Man, I wish I had my phone close by, so I could see if she’s checked in. Someone slaps me in the back of the head, sending my already hunched-over body forward. I glare over at EJ since he’s the only one making eye contact right now.
“What the fuck?”
“Focus. Be a fucking captain and not some lovesick puppy whose ass I wanna kick.”
All his comment does is remind me of my uneasiness at the beginning of this thing. This is exactly why I didn’t want to care about Deanna in the first place. She’s fucking with my head and it’s messing with my game. That is unacceptable.
Compartmentalization.
People do it all the time. For fuck’s sake, I have to be able to do it too. I take all thoughts of Deanna, all my worries, and shove them into a tiny box, which I then throw into the darkest place of my mind.
This is fucking stupid.
I’m on the bench for the start of the second and EJ pats my helmet. He points to the ice. Right, focus like the captain and hockey player I am. I glance up at the jumbotron and wince at the three-one score. I don’t even know who scored for us.
My blood settles. I did not come this far in my career for a fucking woman to screw it up. It might be one game, but that’s one game too many in my books.
Coach Mike sends my line onto the ice. We quickly gain possession and leave our zone. Scotty protects the puck from behind the net. Their goalie moves left to right, keeping an eye on him. In one swift moment, he passes it to where I am, right in front of the blue paint. A slight adjustment of my stick and it sails up in the air. The goalie is angled my way. He lifts his arm to block, but the puck deflects off his side and into the net.
My arms fly up into the air as the home crowd silences. “Fuck yeah, Scotty!” I give him a hug as the rest of the guys come over to celebrate. It’s not until we’re skating over to the bench that I realize I just truly celebrated a goal. My cheeks and mouth even feel weird from smiling. I should get pissed off and think less more often, I guess. Before I can think too much about whether people will realize I celebrated, and thus pay more attention to me, I shut my mind off and focus on the action on the ice. We still need another goal to tie.
That goal comes from EJ. But the tie is almost broken when a bad line change causes a Bruin to take off on a breakaway. Savage looks ready. The guy tries to go five-hole, but Savage shuts down that attempt and holds the puck.
Needless to say, the second period goes better than the first. The third even better. I score again and unthinkingly celebrate another goal. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but who cares? My hockey is benefiting from it.
I’m in my hotel room and I’m staring at all the unanswered texts to Deanna. What’s one more?
Me: You’re on vacation?
She wouldn’t expect me to know that, so maybe it’ll startle her enough to make her respond. I give her five minutes and nothing happens, so I set my phone aside and go to sleep. We have one more game before we go home. I plan to play good hockey. If she responds, she responds. One thing is for certain at this point, I won’t be seeing her on Sunday, even if she’s returned from her vacation.
She wants to do whatever it is she’s doing? Fine. She’ll either find me when she’s done or she won’t. My first priority will be hockey until I can’t stand it anymore and I give in and hunt her down. Thinking such a thing feels wrong, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m not home. Deanna apparently took off. Waiting seems to be my only option.
I don’t send any more texts, but Deanna finally responds Sunday morning, as if she was waiting for me to come home.
Deanna: Only at my grandma’s house.
What? She still has her grandma’s house or something? Why is she hiding out there?
Me: Do you want to see me? I don’t have time for whatever shit you’re pulling.
Maybe I shouldn’t have added that last part, but I’m pissed. All that anger I’ve been ignoring is suddenly back on the surface and raging hot.