Page 54 of Released from the Sin Bin

Now that I stuffed my face in under thirty minutes, I have nothing but Carter’s company to distract me from the game. He insisted on turning the sound on, making it even worse.

“That wasn’t a slapshot,” I yell at the commentator. “Learn the terminology.”

“Relax, it’s a student.” Carter laughs. “He probably gives two shits about hockey.”

“Any idiot should know that.” I glare at the screen.

Jocelyn passes down the ice to Danielle. Danielle passes it, but it’s stolen away by the other team.

“No,” I groan when the other team gets a breakaway. “Get on her! Go! Skate dammit.”

She shoots and scores.

“Are you kidding me?” My eyes sting, feeling the punch at my gut. I would’ve had that one. Every goal against my team is a reminder of how I’m letting them down.

“Are you crying?” Carter looks at me with his bottle frozen at his lips.

“That wouldn’t have happened if I was there. I screwed up,” I sob, with snot coming out of my nose. “I let everyone down and now my team is suffering.”

“It was one goal.” Carter gets up and finds a napkin for me to wipe my face. “That’s it.” He goes back to my kitchen and looks through cabinets. Frantically swinging them open and closed to find whatever he’s looking for.

“What are you doing?” I try to turn to see, but have limited movement without twisting my ankle and losing the position I’m in.

“Found it.” He stands from behind the counter with a bottle of dark rum in his hand. “Is this all you have?”

“I don’t know,” I whine.

He comes over with the full bottle and two plastic cups.

“What are you doing?” I question him again. “I don’t feel like drinking. I’m depressed enough as it is.”

“I’m tired of watching you sulk on the most uncomfortable couch in the fucking world and torture yourself by insisting on rooting for a team that doesn’t even have your back.” He puts the bottle on the table with the cups. “At least we can have some fun.”

“The couch isn’t that uncomfortable,” I defend my old couch. It’s really old and the cushions are sunken in from overuse, but it’s still comfortable. “You don’t have to be here.” I roll my eyes and watch him fill up the two glasses. “I can’t drink it like that,” I complain, needing something more than straight rum.

He runs into the kitchen and comes back with an orange sliced in two, squeezing each one into the two glasses.

“It’s the best I could do. You guys have nothing in there besides water.”

I’m still not drinking it.

“Alright,” he claps and rubs his hands together, “the game is… Every time a play is missed that you would’ve made, we drink.”

“I’m not—” I start to refuse his game, but then Amber misses the pass, and the opposing team takes the puck out into the neutral zone. An easy pass anyone should have stopped. I would’ve stopped it.

I grab the cup and take a small sip.

“Cheers.” Carter raises his glass before taking his own sip. “Not bad.” He winces and motions to the bottle. “I hate this shit.”

“Then why are we drinking?”

“Because life sucks.” He taps his glass to mine in a toast and takes another sip. “New rule; drink every time Coach Higgins smiles.”

The camera pans and shows Coach smiling with a shake of his head. We both lift our glasses for a drink.

A second later, there’s a line change and Coach is smiling.

“Why is he smiling?” I yell at the screen.

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