Page 153 of Staying Selfless

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’m going to rinse off real quick, and I’ll hop in my car.”

“My car,” I correct. “You’re taking my truck. The roads are slick. And rain check on your French toast. I owe you a redo breakfast date.”

“You think I’m not getting French toast?” Logan asks with an evil laugh. “Oh, I’m getting French toast. I’m sure I can convince Jack and Mary to go to breakfast with me. I’ll send you pictures of it while you’re at morning skate.”

My mouth falls into an ‘O’ as my eyes narrow into slits, shooting daggers at my girl as she betrays me.

“You’re lucky I love you because that’s grounds for a breakup,” I tell her with a tap of her towel-covered ass.

I’m trying to remember it all.

I’m trying to take in the sights, the sounds, the scents.

The scents can be fucking disgusting, by the way.

I’m trying to remember this feeling of playing in front of my home crowd, the stands peppered with maroon and gold.

I’m trying to remember every detail because there’s a good chance tonight is the last time it’s going to happen.

Now, I’m not thinking tonight is the last time I’m ever going to play college hockey or rep U of M across my chest, but if we win, which we should, our next round will most likely be on the road. You see, the University of Massachusetts is ranked above us, and if they pull out a W tonight as well, we are heading to the East Coast for round three.

Which is why my parents flew in today, even though I told them they didn’t need to. They wanted to see me don my home jersey for one last game because after tonight, I’ll probably be sporting the maroon one meant for away games for the rest of the season and subsequently the rest of my college career.

This is it. This is the last game in my home arena, and as much as I’ve been itching to get called up, I’m going to miss this place.

“Ready, Cap?” Goody asks, pulling my attention to my teammates all lined up and ready to hit the ice for warmups. Benny leads the group just as he does every game while I bring up the rear, the last one out of the tunnel.

I take one more long look around the locker room that’s been my home for the past five years, trying to take it all in before it’s gone forever. “Let’s go, boys,” I tell my team as they filter out onto the ice, the deafening roar of the crowd spilling into the hall.

I give my locker stall its final glimpse, my eyes landing on my two favorite pictures before I hit the ice, ready to take down Northwestern in the second round.

The anxiety and panic are a hit or miss these days, and thankfully tonight I feel centered and ready.

As I take my first lap on our half of the rink, the strobe lights dance across the ice. The music and the crowd are booming, or at least I assume they are. I don’t hear much because I’m buzzing with clarity and focus. My nerves are calm as they typically are once my blades touch the ice.

And it doesn’t hurt that when I look up to the stands, Logan and my family are the first people I see. I couldn’t be more thankful that my family’s seats are located where they are. The only people I care to watch me play are sitting in the first row right behind the bench, and I try my best to pretend like they’re the only ones here.

My ankle feels good, and for the first time in three weeks, I mean it. I fully intend to play at least twenty minutes tonight and show every scout who is streaming my game why I should’ve been called up by now.

I take a moment to absorb the memory of our announcer calling out my name for the last time, the national anthem in my home stadium, and the way Logan looks at me softly through the plexiglass as I put my gloved hand up to meet hers, just as I do before every game.

The worst part about all of this is that tonight might be the last time Logan sees me play college hockey. And it’s probably the last time she’ll be wearing my jersey to a game. She and Marc can’t miss school to fly to Massachusetts next week because of midterms, so this could be the last time I play in front of her as a Golden Gopher. Hell, this could be the last time I play in front of her ever.

So, I made sure it was worth her while.

After sixty minutes of hockey, we pulled out the 4-2 win over Northwestern. I didn’t score, but I did have two assists. Plus, I drew two penalties, and we scored on one of those power plays.

And Zanders was right. Peterson is a little bitch. After he tried to draw a few bullshit penalties without success, he broke his stick against the boards like a child throwing a tantrum.

I can’t wait to tell Zanders that we knocked Northwestern out. Then again, he might not give a shit. He’s in the NHL now. Why would he care about college hockey? I’m not sure I would if I were in his position.

After my shower and our team’s post-game meeting, I find Logan, Marc, and my parents in the players tunnel for the final time in this arena before heading home.

We were planning to make a family dinner at the house off-campus, but no one felt like cooking, and after missing diner breakfast with Logan this morning, all I wanted was some greasy food in my belly. So, we grabbed some burgers and fries for the family on our way back to the house.

“How am I still hungover?” Marc gripes, throwing his head back behind him on the sofa, his food still sitting on the coffee table in front of him, untouched.

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