Page 27 of Staying Selfless

It can’t be easy for her to know that I might be leaving soon, just like it’s gut-wrenching for me to think that Logan will be in Minnesota finishing school if I get called up and have to move. But regardless of all of that, she’s always been supportive of my dream. She wants the best for me. She’s the most selfless person I know, even if she doesn’t think so, and here she is proving it again.

When I walk into the room, I find Zanders zipping up his equipment bag, ready to get to the rink. He eyes my shirtless chest before giving me a questioning look. “I’m not even gonna ask,” he says before slipping out of the room with his bag in tow.

This arena is huge. And packed. I’ve played in stadiums as big and full as this one, but I’ve never played in front of thirty-two NHL scouts simultaneously. Yet here I am, about to do just that.

My nerves are rattling through my body as I watch the first game. My group won’t take the ice for another twenty minutes, and it’s almost worse that we’re going on second.

Typically, when I’m stressed about a game, the feeling of the ice under my blades settles me. The ice always settles me. As much anxiety, panic, and pain this game has caused me over the years, there’s nothing like the feeling I get when I step onto the ice for the first time.

I’m trying not to over-analyze my competition right now, but it’s difficult. I’m standing at the edge of the players’ tunnel with the rest of the guys from group two, including my team, waiting for our turn.

I haven’t seen my family yet, but I told them not to rush over once I found out what time my first game was. I know they’ll be here before I start.

“Thirteen, huh?” Zanders tugs on my bib. “At least they gave you your actual number.”

Looking down at the paper pinned to Zanders’ jersey, I can’t help but laugh. “Sixty-nine? I can’t believe you haven’t changed your real number to that yet.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Zanders says smugly. “But I would hate to disappoint all my fans who own my number eleven jersey. Maybe when I get called up to the league. Evan Zanders, number sixty-nine!” he yells as if he were a major league announcer. He follows it up with faux roars from the crowd.

“Too bad I can’t fuck you up today,” Zanders adds with a nudge, but his tone has much less hatred than it did yesterday.

“I can’t believe they put us on the same team all weekend.”

“It’s really unfair for the rest of these amateurs, getting their asses handed to them all weekend by the two of us.”

I tilt my head to give him a questioning glance. “Zanders, are you being nice to me?” My tone is all sarcasm.

“Fuck no,” he scoffs. “You’re still a little bitch. And I’ll remind you of that when we come to Minnesota for division finals.”

Neither of us can keep from laughing. This is weird. For the first time in my life, I don’t entirely despise the defenseman standing next to me.

“Get off the ice Peterson!” Zanders chirps through the glass as Northwestern’s center skates by us with the puck. “You’re fucking garbage!”

As soon as Peterson’s shot hits the goalpost, my gaze catches my family walking in, finding seats in the crowded arena about ten rows up from the ice, opposite the bench.

Mary is waving her hands wildly at me, trying to get my attention. She’s beaming with pride right along with my dad, though he is much more discreet about it. Logan takes the spot next to my stepmom with Marc on her other side, but she hasn’t looked my way yet, and Marc and Ali are busy chatting away as they take their seats.

I give Mary a small wave, just enough to appease her and to get her to stop wildly throwing her arms in the air like the madwoman she is. She nudges my girlfriend and points in my direction, as Logan’s eyes finally lock with mine.

She doesn’t wave because she doesn’t need to. She simply gives me a sweet, beaming smile that I can see from across the arena, and I return the same, unquestionably looking way too giddy right now.

“So that’s where you took off to last night,” Zanders says in a knowing tone. I snap my head in his direction to find him staring across the arena at Logan. “I mean, I get it. She’s fine as hell. She looks a little sad, but she’s still fine.”

Even though I don’t love him talking about or looking at Logan, the way he said that wasn’t threatening at all. If it were, I would tell him to shut the fuck up.

“Okay, you can stop staring at my girlfriend now.”

“Girlfriend? You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” I state without hesitation.

“How does she feel about all of this?” he asks, motioning around us.

“All of what?”

“This. You making it in the big leagues. Moving away.”

“Moving is a little bit of a tough subject right now, but she’s supportive of what I’m trying to do, regardless.” I look back at Logan, but she and Mary are deep in conversation now, so she doesn’t notice me staring.

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