Page 31 of Sidelined Love

Our team leaves the locker room and goes through the tunnel. The air is cold and crisp, and every step I take reminds me it's that much closer to game time.

I lead the team onto the rink and just before we begin our warm-ups, I look out into the crowd. As I expected ahead oftime, I find my father sitting in the stands. But I am surprised to see my mother here as well.

For most people, it isn't an issue to have their parents at their sporting event, ready to cheer them on. But for me, it's different. I wish neither of them were here. I’d have told them to stay home if I could have. Mom isn’t nearly as bad as Dad, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is the last thing I want.

Dad's face barely hides his anticipation while Mom looks somewhat indifferent, almost numb to it all. When she spots me looking over at them, however, she gives me a small smile and wave. I do the same back and as she prepares to tap my father, I turn away.

I push their images aside along with any thoughts that threaten to distract me from the game. I can't let their presence here get to me or else it's going to throw me off my game.

The warm-up starts with some light skating around our half of the rink. Asher joins me on a few laps, but he doesn't say a word. Words aren't needed. We’ve done this routine together so many times that it will be stitched in our memories for eternity.

Knox catches up with us and is the first to speak. “Ready to beat their asses?” he asks casually, as if we’re just discussing plans for the next party that is going to be thrown.

“Always,” I reply.

As we begin drills, they, too, feel like they are ingrained in my brain. It’s muscle memory at this point, and that's how it should be.

Coach Johnson blows his whistle signaling for us to gather around him one final time before the match officially begins. After that, we break off and take our positions as the starting lineup is announced. I wait for the announcer to say my name, and as soon as he does, it is followed by cheers that send even more adrenaline through my body.

The referee signals to us that it’s time for a face-off.

I skate to the center circle, and I swear I can feel every eye in the crowd on me. Opposite me, my counterpart mirrors my stance, our eyes locked on the puck in the referee's hand. It’s as if time slows down for just a moment.

As I crouch, the referee's hand hovers over the ice and everything else fades because the only thing that matters is the puck and my opponent.

Before I can blink, the black disk drops to the ice and that is all I can see.

It's game time.

With a swift flick of my stick, I direct the puck toward Asher. The game is in motion and our team moves as if we're in sync with one another.

We have no issue with dominating from our first possession. In the stands, I can feel the electricity coming from the crowd, and it grows with each goal we score. It fuels me, and I'm sure the rest of my teammates feel the same.

As the game continues, I steal a glance at my parents again during a brief moment that I'm on the bench. They're on their feet now, my mom is clapping along with the rest of the fans, but I can't say the same for my father. He's turning slightly red from yelling. It's easy for me to guess that he's probably yelling about the things he feels I'm doing wrong and what I need to do in order for me to be better in his eyes.

Same shit. Different day.

I look over at Coach Johnson’s face as it breaks into a rare grin. At this point, if we're winning and he's happy, that's all that matters.

The game continues until the final buzzer blows. The crowd is still on their feet as we celebrate winning our game. I slow down and circle the rink, relief flowing through my veins. Everything has paid off as we can add the first win to our season.

And it feels so damn good.

The players from both teams join us on the rink and we line up to shake hands and thank each other for a good game. The handshakes are quick and I'm willing to bet each player is trying to calm down from the high that comes with playing this game. There will be time later to start thinking about what went right and what went wrong during this match.

When all of my duties on the ice are complete, I skate off toward the exit leading directly to the locker rooms. Coach Johnson finds me and puts a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Good work out there,” he says.

I nod, happy about the compliment. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Don't forget you have to meet with the media in a little bit.”

“I won't forget.”

In the locker room, the energy is contagious. Everyone is happy, and I'm willing to bet some of the chatter I'm hearing around me has to do with a party or two that will be happening in celebration. Asher slaps my back as he passes by toward his locker.

“Excellent work,” he says.

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