Page 3 of Mind Pucked

Everything goes completely dead silent. Dean is kissing a rabbit’s foot, and some other players are praying. Anything at all to give us an extra edge on this game.

I take seven deep, slow breaths, feeling every part of me relax. I visualize myself out on the ice. How smooth I’m going to skate. How easy it’s going to be to get that puck into the goal. How simple it’s going to be to slam every bit of aggressive competition against the wall and take them out.

I imagine looking up into the crowd and seeing Lyla and Hayden—flustered, cheering me on, and wearing my jersey.

This game will be perfect. It’s all going to be fine.

“Okay, boys, time for the ice.”

Coach motions for us to head out and we all get into a line, skating out to a roaring crowd. The stadium is full, other than a couple seats and a few stragglers.

I try to find Lyla, but I don’t see her yet. I do see Quinn, right next to my girl who’s cheering hard, though she probably doesn’t even know what she’s cheering for.

That’s okay. She’ll wear my jersey one day too.

The buzzer goes off, and we start the game without Preston. The game flies by. Everything is a blur, and I let my instincts take over. I only have to slam someone once. The New York Knights are playing a clean game. It makes me nervous, actually. I feel like I need more bodies to slam every time I look up and can’t find my wife.

No Preston. No Lyla.

Somehow I keep my head in the game, and we’re winning when we get to halftime.

I pull my helmet off, heading back for a break and a lot of water. Dehydration is overtaking me as I work hard to make this game the game of a lifetime.

The sound of a throat clearing pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn around to see Coach with his hands on his hips, standing next to a police officer.

I can feel the blood draining from my face. I don’t even know if I want to know what this is about.

“Is it Lyla?” I say, my tone quiet and deep, barely above a whisper.

A few other players are looking on, but Coach takes me into his office and tells me to sit.

“Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?” My temper flares.

“Lyla is your wife, correct?” the officer asks.

“Yes, what do you want?” I don’t mean to be so short, but I hate when people act like this. They never get to the damn point. I want to know what the hell is happening with my wife.

“Your wife has been in an accident. A pretty bad car accident. She was unconscious at the scene and taken to the hospital. She’s got some severe injuries. I know you’re in the middle of the game, but if I were you, I might get myself to the hospital too.”

For a moment, I can’t do anything but stare. It’s as if I can’t process the information I’m being given.

Lyla was in an accident. Lyla is not here. Lyla is in the hospital. Lyla has bad injuries.

I repeat it to myself until it actually starts to sink in.

“But you said she’s alive, right?”

The officer nods, but the look on his face is a bit grim. So she must have some pretty bad injuries after all.

“Do you have any information you can give me about her condition or about the accident?” I ask, knowing I’m about to make the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.

The officer shakes his head. “I was the one sent here to make sure you got the news. A couple of my colleagues are on the scene, gathering evidence and getting the report down. I can send one of them to meet you at the hospital with more information. Do you plan on going now or after the game?”

I look at Coach as if he’s going to give me the answer. His face softens. I can tell he feels sorry for me, but he’s not going to give me the answer.

“Coach, do you need me?”

He purses his lips and shifts uncomfortably next to his desk. “Jackson, of course I need you. Not gonna lie about that. You’re our best defender. Especially with Preston gone too. But…”

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