Page 5 of The Game She Hates

Pearl Davis

My phone buzzes with a new text message just as I pull into the parking lot outside my apartment. It’s Kendrick confirming that his player will be coming to see me on Wednesday. That’s the day after tomorrow, and here I am, still clueless about hockey. I don’t even know why anyone would want to play the game, let alone how the game is played. Baseball seems like a better fit for me. I wonder why it’s not more popular here. And tennis—now that’s a game I could get behind, maybe even take my hypothetical future kids to. I detest anything with violence. After dealing with kids who have suffered so much, anything even remotely violent makes my skin crawl.

I’m not sure how I can cram it all in less than two days, but I know exactly who to ask. That’s the one and only perk of living with a hockey fanatic.

I step out of the car and into our apartment and I’m immediately struck by how inviting it feels. Robyn and I are now pros at creating a Pinterest-worthy home, although it’s more of an obsession of mine than it is for her. There’s just something refreshing about walking into our light gray-walled room.

Our living room is just as we like it: beige couches adorned with white, gray, and mustard-colored pillows, a walnut coffee table with a fake plant as the centerpiece, and coffee table books neatly stacked beside it. And no, we don’t clutter the space with my horrid psychology books—those are reserved for my office table in my room. Completing the cozy atmosphere are our gray fluffy rug and two crochet blankets that Robyn’s mom lovingly made for each of us.

The wall boasts black frames cradling our beloved Bible verses, each set against a pristine white backdrop. My gaze gravitates to mine.

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

As I absorb the familiar words, a gentle sense of comfort engulfs me, like a reassuring touch from the Holy Spirit.

Lately, I’ve been zipping through this room without stopping to think about these verses. I’ve allowed myself to sink into hurt, swimming in self-doubt and despair and remaining there. My prayers have felt like shouting into the void, but now I’m realizing that I haven’t taken the time to actually listen. It’s as if the Lord is finally nudging me into stillness, so that I can open my heart and truly hear His voice.

Tears start to flow as I plop down on the floor. I couldn’t have planned this moment. My sweater sleeves get damp from all the wiping.

“I’m sorry, Jesus. I’m sorry for not allowing You to comfort me. Forgive me for being so consumed with my own emotions instead of clinging to Your promises. Thank You for reminding me that everything in my life has a purpose known only to You. Thank You for showing me that even in my brokenness, You are working for my good and for Your glory.” As I utter these words, it feels like a prayer of repentance. This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced God’s grace, but I constantly need a reminder of His unfailing love and mercy.

Growing up in foster homes, with zero sense of identity, belonging to Jesus is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. That’s why I chose to become a Christian counselor for kids like me. I want them to find what I found and continue to find on days like these: hope, peace, purpose and the reassurance that they are deeply loved and valued by the King of kings.

I hear the doorknob turn behind me, and Robyn enters. As soon as she sees me on the floor, she drops her bag and kneels to wrap her arms around me. “Do you want to pray about this?”

Her eyes flicker over to me and I can sense her worry, and it’s probably because my eyes resemble ripe tomatoes in their crimson hue. Robyn has always been my rock, navigating the craziness of life together. She’s been instrumental in my healing journey, especially in these past few weeks when I’ve been grappling with my feelings for Duke. We’ve spent countless moments in prayer for my heart to heal.

With a sniffle, I manage to choke out, “I’m fine, Robs, thank you.”

Robyn raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine. Your eyes are puffy.”

“No, really. I just read my life verse, and it felt like God met me right here. I feel comforted. The disappointment lingers, and I’m still sorting through my feelings about Duke and Kate, but I know there’s a reason for it all. You were right. Duke wasn’t meant for me. What’s meant for me, no one can take away.”

She beams with pride and claps her hands excitedly. “Praise the Lord. I’m thrilled to see you on the other side of this. But are you sure about being Kate’s bridesmaid? You’re not obligated to, you know.”

“I think I can handle it. It’ll just help me see them in a different light. I really want to support and bless them,” I reply with a genuine smile, realizing that it’s already working. My heart isn’t bitter about the thought of them together anymore.

“You’re such a sweetheart, P. I’m already wanting to back out, and I didn’t even have a crush on her future husband.”

I jostle her shoulder, and she teeters to the side, her hands ready to catch her fall. “Too soon to make that joke. “Future husband” makes me feel like I broke the tenth commandment.”

“It’s not your fault those two met, dated, and got engaged in the span of two months,” she says, waving me off.

I laugh at her comment. Robyn has a knack for telling me what I need to hear, whether it’s with her blunt honesty or a sprinkle of sweetness.

“Actually, I need your help. Kendrick is sending his player on Wednesday, and I still don’t know how many players make a team. Can you teach me everything you know about hockey in less than two days?”

Robyn considers for a moment before responding. “No, I heard Coach saying something about childhood baggage. If he wanted someone with sports expertise, he would have hired a sports counselor. There’s a reason he chose you. I trust Coach.”

We both settle on the couch, and I playfully swat her with a pillow. “Quit calling him Coach; he’s not your coach. But seriously, why not? I want to know what I’m diving into with him. It’s like reading up on my clients before they show up.”

“Normally, I’d be all in for a hockey crash course, but not today. Trust your gut instincts, P. You’re really good with people. I reckon you can help him soar without needing to know a puck from a penalty.”

I growl in frustration. “I hate feeling unprepared. I might binge-watch a few games to catch up if you’re not up for the task.”

“Suit yourself. But one thing you should know,” Robyn adds with a smirk, “is that Zane Ortiz is easy on the eye.”

I stand up and head to my room, dismissing her comment. Handsome men are the last thing on my mind right now.

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