Page 75 of Pucked and Pregnant

I fight the urge to pick at and readjust my uniform because I can see Max watching me out of the corner of his eye. In fact,I’m so focused on not fidgeting that I don’t even hear Coach’s pregame speech. When he’s done, I move robotically in line to be announced.

Max is the last one to take his spot in line, and as he passes me, he says, “You can keep her a secret for now, but mark my words, I will find out what woman has enough hold on you to keep you off the puck bunnies.”

“For the last time, I’m not seeing anyone,” I lie.

“Right.”

Damn it. I should have known he’d see this as a challenge.

As if my life wasn’t complicated enough without Max actively trying to dig through it. I’m so unsettled that the guy behind me has to poke me when my name is called.

The only reason I make it across the ice without falling is muscle memory. Skating is as automatic as breathing for me. I just hope that muscle memory will help compensate for the disorganized state of my mind.

The introductions are complete and the anthem is played. Now I’m skate-to-skate with the center for the Ice Hawks, waiting for the puck to drop.

Looking at him is like peering into an inverted mirror. Longer dark hair, eyes that are almost black, thin mouth—we couldn’t be any more opposite. I’d even hazard a guess that his mind is sharp and his focus is clear, unlike my own. So it’s comes as no surprise when he manages to get control of the puck in the faceoff.

Normally that would send me into a frenzy. I’d develop tunnel vision and my sole reason for being would be getting that puck back.

Today, however, I have to dig for that focus. Everyone else seems to be moving at double speed except for me. It’s like I have a ten-second delay.

Somehow, I’m in position for Max to pass the puck.

I blink, and suddenly it’s next to my stick.

I have a clear path to the net and I line up my shot.

Wait. Is this where my hands are supposed to go? This grip has been fine all through the period. Why is it feeling weird now?

My few seconds of insecurity leaves the door wide open for a check so hard I can feel my teeth rattle.

I can also feel Max’s eyes on me.

Get it together.

I tug at my jersey, trying to get it to sit in a way that doesn’t bother me.

I can barely stay present for the first period.

The second period isn’t much better.

I’m playing fine and holding my own but fine isn’t good enough. I need to be at the absolute top of my game, every game. If I give anything less than that, I’m a failure.

Every time I catch a snippet of Liv’s voice over the PA system, I feel my stress level go up. The more stressed I get, the more I pick at my uniform and second-guess myself.

I know she’s focusing most of her attention on me today. I can feel the weight of her gaze from the commentator’s box, just like I can feel Max’s wherever he is on the ice.

I know that she’s watched me play all season, but up until now, I haven’t given her any reason to be disappointed in me. I know the moment I falter, the moment I play a bad game or seem to be anything other than confident and in control, she’ll leave.

At least that’s what happened with every other woman I’ve tried to open up to. Why should I expect Liv to be any different?

I wave off Max’s concern as we head back into the locker room for the second intermission and head straight to the showers. I usually wait until after the game is completely over to shower, but today I need it.

The shock of the cold water beating down on my skin pushes through the brain fog, giving me a moment of clarity. I need to keep my focus on the game, and I think I know how to do it.

I call up the image of a locker in my mind and picture shoving everything that’s bothering me into it.

Nerves, sensory overload, guilt, into the locker it goes.

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