Page 25 of My Pucking Crush

But now, the worst ache iswaylower than my wrist.

FOURTEEN

Max

On Friday night, I return to the ice and have my worst game of the season against Cape May. Heck, maybe since I became captain. That responsibility weighs so heavily on me suddenly. Being so caught up in my own head, I feel like I’m letting people down.

As a defensemanandthe captain, it’s like cheering from the sidelines. Many centers are captains. That’s too much pressure in my opinion.

Even though we’re ahead by one goal, nothing is working for me tonight. I catch myself flinching whenever the other team’s center or wingmen power skate up to me. They’re practically snarling tonight. Playoff spots are on the line, so it’s understandable.

I’m nursing wounds this team doesn’t know about. Not that they’d take it easy on me if they did. They’d come at me harder. Just like I’d do to them.

Our crease is chaotic tonight. Their offense is on fucking fire. I’m not able to get a break and catch my breath except when my line leaves the ice. What used to feel like forever, salivating to get back in the fray, now feels like seconds.

It takes me until the second period when we’re down three-goals-to-one to realize I’m being watched.

Luca.

He’s positioned right next to Beck in what is arguably the most important spot, right behind the players. Coach needs to see everything on the ice. And apparently, someone decided so does Luca.

Does the security staff stare at us so intently like this? I doubt it. But I can’t say forsure. Luca is protecting me from an outside threat. In fact, staringat mewon’t help.

On my next break, I turn around to tell him to knock it off, but this time, he’s facing the crowd. Looking high into the rafters where retired shirts and banners hang from steel beams.

Every player imagines their name and number up there. Getting your number retired is a BFD in any sport.

My mind strays to those back-to-back games against Richmond next week. They can shake up where we stand in our division. Coach reminds us not to dwell on first place and how many games we’re ahead. Or whether or not a win or loss will affect our position.

We have one job.

Win.

And if we win against Houston before we face Richmond, we clinch the playoffs. But the more we win, the better our position will be to have more games played here in our home arena. Sure, we all travel during the season. By May, after preseason training starts in August, we’re bone-weary. It’s better to make the other team travel more.

With a free moment to breathe, I spot Luca talking on his radio, then pointing at something. I look up, too. A sketchy looking dude is being pulled out by two guards. He’s not yelling like a drunk fan, in fact, he’s going quietly. Watching this, I nearly catch a stick in the jaw right after the puck drop.

With Luca facing the ice again, I let it all go. I’ll ask him later what happened. Right now, my job is to stop the puck from advancing to my goal.

Like Gordon Ramsey cuts up vegetables, I chop, chop, chop with my stick until the puck is free so I can pass it to the offense. But tonight, the damn thing keeps turning up in my zone like a stray dog I fed once.

Pushing myself, I stop the puck again and again. But Cape May catches a fluke bounce off my skate and scores, tying up the game.

Overtime.

Fuuuuck. I’m done. Sore. Tired.

But Madison, our forward, is hungry tonight as he rockets across the blue line. With Hayden hanging back, I follow the wingers, and we hammer the other team’s crease until the puck flies into the net.

I practically faceplant onto the ice. But my teammates drag me into a group hug, others clearing the bench to join us. We wave to the fans. Some throw merch onto the ice. The PR department recently announced that all merch thrown at us gets signed and donated to the local children’s hospital.

We clomp off the ice and into our dressing room. The equipment staff are everywhere, helping players off with skates. Trainers are there checking bandages and bruises, shining light pens into the eyes of the guys who took rough hits against the boards.

At the door, Luca stands with another security detail agent. That guy’s looking around the room smiling, reveling in the win. But Luca is only looking at me.

Not smiling.

After we give our interviews, shower, and dress, all suited up, I head for the exit with Luca silently trailing me. I was told I can no longer drive my car to the stadium like I’ve been doing my entire career. Now Luca drives me in a brand-new armored SUV with tinted windows. It’s a custom number the team rented for me.

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