Page 199 of Staying Selfless

A small amount of pressure lifts from my chest, and I can’t help but smile at her words.

“I love you too, Logan.”

“Now go kick some ass, thirteen.” She wears a proud grin, her eyes crinkling at the corner. She sends me a little kiss through the screen, which only makes me smile more before she hangs up the phone.

I drop my head down, feeling a bit lighter from her words, but then the image of her hurt body pops into my mind again.

And I feel sick to my stomach.

And the guilt presses onto me full force.

Even though her words bring the calm they always do, seeing her face just reminds me of the worst night of my life. It reminds me that I could’ve changed the outcome if I had done one thing differently. It reminds me of those hours of panic when I wasn’t sure if my best friend would be okay, and here I am a few days later, playing a fucking game that doesn’t matter one bit.

“Maddison, game time!” one of my new teammates calls out.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself before I leave the bathroom stall, but the image of Logan’s bruised and battered face keeps replaying in my mind. It’s all I can see.

I find my way into the line of my teammates, wearing their Dallas green and ready to take the ice. My rookie ass is placed somewhere in the middle, behind the goalie and captains, but in front of one of the league’s long-time veterans, bringing up the rear.

I’ve always been the last to touch the ice, but I don’t have a say here, seeing as I have absolutely zero seniority.

As the team filters onto the ice, the boos from the crowd grow louder, the distaste for any visiting team evident with this loyal fan base. The noise level in this arena is more deafening than any game I’ve ever experienced, and the special effects, from the light show to the images projected onto the ice, are impressive.

I’ve yet to play a game at home in Dallas, but I’m looking forward to experiencing the love from our local fans.

Once the lights brighten and the announcers are done getting the crowd riled up, my eyes find the section of seats reserved for my family. Team management made sure they got a good spot, including jerseys with my last name and number for my debut game.

My dad, Mary, and Marc are all decked out in green as they stand and wave, excitement and pride evident from all the way down here at ice level.

And as happy as I am that they’re here for my NHL debut, all I can focus on is Logan’s absence, and my stomach sinks when her face pops into my mind again.

But I also feel guilty for my lack of excitement today because the truth is, it wasn’t just me who was chasing this dream. It was my dad paying for all my hockey fees and equipment growing up. It was Mary driving me to practices and games every day. It was Marc playing goalie in the backyard without any pads on when we were kids so that I could get some shots in.

So, it’s not just me that made it. It’s all of us.

“Hey, thirteen! You fucking suck!” someone yells behind me.

I roll my eyes, knowing who the voice belongs to.

“Says the asshole who sat in the penalty box for the majority of his NHL debut,” I retort with a smile as I turn around, finding Zanders waiting for me at the centerline.

“Eli fucking Maddison,” he begins. “Dallas’ newest forward and still the same little bitch he’s always been.”

I can’t help but laugh because about five months ago, those words would’ve had a completely different intention coming from him.

“What’s up, man?” I swing my arm around him, hugging my once hated rival and now good friend.

“We did it, man. Who would’ve thought?”

“Not me,” I admit. “To be honest, after not hearing anything for so long, I thought I was fucked.”

“I thought for sure it was going to be you before it was me.”

I give him a half-smile, not able to offer up much more.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit, Maddison.”

“Is there a different way to take that?”

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