Page 21 of Holiday Hostilities

The unusually serious atmosphere in the room breaks as the guys laugh and cheer, and morale is successfully restored. My teammates all get back to their pre-game preparations, and I flop down on the bench, still reeling.

I hardly notice when Jake sits down next to me.

“You okay, man?” he asks as he claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Fine, yeah. That was all just a bit insane.”

“I’ll say.” He frowns, squinting at the floor. “But we got your back.”

“I know. Thanks.” Jake is typically a man of few words, but the words he does say always matter, and I appreciate his support.

He quirks a smile. “It’ll be good. Now, I’ll leave you alone with your latest creation. What you working on now?”

I chuckle as I pull out my current crochet project: a little red fox with white paws and black whiskers.

“You weirdo,” Jake mutters, shaking his head with a grin, and I punch him in the arm jokily. He stands to get ready and leaves me to my task.

This ismypre-game prep. A ritual, if you will. I’ll crochet pretty much anything before I step out on the ice, but Imostly like to make stuffed animals. They make great gifts for when I visit the children’s hospital—my favorite volunteer work. The Cyclones made an appearance there for a charity event two Christmases ago, and I’ve been going back regularly since. Talking to those incredible kids is the most humbling experience, and I’ll be happy to visit them for as long as they’ll have me.

Everyone on the team thinks that my crocheting is just a superstition. After all, as well as being cocky, us hockey players are known for our ritualistic superstitions—which can include anything from taping our sticks a certain way, to carrying good luck charms, to, in my old teammate Thomas McNulty’s case, listening to “I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney Spears five times in a row while clutching a rubber snake.

As far as the guys know, back in high school, I helped my nonna with one of her crochet projects the same day I had an important game… and then proceeded to have the game of my life.

While that is where this all started, my crochet habit is more than just a superstitious tradition. It’s actually a huge part of my mental game—the best way I know to stop any racing thoughts before I skate onto the ice of a packed arena. There’s something about my fingers moving on autopilot that helps my mind go blank so that I can focus on nothing but the game ahead.

And today—despite the unfortunate cockroach incident, and my leadership being questioned, and the Brandi situation—crocheting helps. As my fingers move, my thoughts melt like butter in a hot skillet, reducing in magnitude.

Just like the proposal story, this too will blow over. A cockroach stunt at the zoo does not a substantial threat to my captaincy make, and what really matters now is that I lead by example, like Mal encouraged me to.

Set the intention for us to win, and make it happen.

It’s Thanksgiving, for goodness sake, and I’m gonna give us all something to be thankful for.

By the time I’ve suited up, laced my skates, and stepped out onto the ice at the helm of my team, I’m not exactly feeling better, but I feel equilibrium again. I plaster on my best game face as I wave to the fans and blow a kiss towards the cluster of Aaron’s Army groupies in section 110, like I always do. I’m not gonna let one bad apple spoil the bunch, and I really am grateful for their love and support.

But before I turn away from the crowd, I seeher.

There’s a sea of people in the arena, but I’d spot that copper hair and sassy expression a mile away.

Jake told me that she’d be here this afternoon. It’s the first time she’s in town for a home game, and my buddy was happy his sister could attend. And there she is, in the friends and family box, standing a few feet away from Seb’s wife Maddie, and our social media manager, Reagan.

Her expression darkens when she sees me looking at her, and this makes me smile. So much so that I can’t help but wink at her.

She looks back at me like she’d like to stab me with the sharpest skate she can find, and I chuckle to myself.

Suddenly, all is right with the world.

8

OLIVIA

According to recent scientific research, octopuses occasionally punch fish who happen to be swimming by for no reason other than spite.

Apparently, the octopus is my spirit animal, because, right now, I’d like nothing more than to punch Aaron Marino in his stupid, pretty face.

He just winked at me.

Winked!

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