Page 28 of Forecasting the Forward

“No, it really isn’t. I mean yeah, I didn’t know how to handle that initially. And I fucked up with her more than once. But she was also the first woman I’ve met that I truly felt like I could be myself around. I wasn’t Jax, the center for the Wolves. I was Jacob. And that was a nice change.”

Coach nods, understanding dawning on his face. “I get it. Really. Maybe she hasn’t ghosted you, or maybe she has. But I highly doubt she’s the only woman out there who will want the real Jacob Mitchell. How the hell did you get the nickname Jax? That doesn’t make any sense.”

I let out a loud bark of laughter. “My first nickname was Mitchy, and I fought that hard. Even as an eight-year-old, I recognized how fucked up that sounded. I think a little sister of a teammate when I was around eleven couldn’t pronounce Jacobor Jake, and somehow it came out Jax. The name stuck, and I was all too happy to go with that instead of Mitchy.”

“I still want to know what Levi’s nickname was. There’s no way he went all the way through his career until now with no nickname,” Coach says with a smile.

“Good luck with that,” I joke. I know Levi’s nickname, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’d never do that to him.

Coach’s eyes narrow. “You fucking know the nickname, don’t you? Come on. Tell me, or I’ll put you down to fourth line.”

I stand up with a chuckle. “No, you won’t.”

“God dammit. I won’t.”

Whistling, I head out of his office, ready to get home.

A cacophonyof squeaks and squeals hits my ears as I open the door to my apartment. “Alright, alright! I’ll get you your treats.”

Heading to the kitchen, I pull open my fridge to grab a smattering of fruits and vegetables for my girls. Today, it’s blueberries, strawberries, watermelon, broccoli, and cauliflower. Their favorite is spinach, but I’m out of that. The squeals they let out when they hear the bag of spinach opening is pretty comical.

As soon as my foot hits the carpet in their room, my guinea pigs start squealing. All six of them.

Rose, Lily, Daffodil, Bluebell, Daisy, and Dahlia.

Yes, I have six guinea pigs. And I have a pet sitter that comes twice a day to make sure they have everything they need when I’m out of town.

My newest girl, Dahlia, hides in one of the huts. She’s still unsure of me, as well as the chaos around her. I’ve set up one of my secondary bedrooms as their space. Multiple cages are connected by tubes. I even had someone 3D print special stairs that lead to tubes and slides halfway up the walls. As often as possible, I put them in their exercise balls and let them roam around the apartment.

I first became obsessed with guinea pigs in middle school. A kid at my school had one, and I immediately fell in love. I liked that they were bigger than hamsters, but could still be caged. For some reason, the thought of a dog or cat scared the hell out of me. Probably because I figured my mom would kill it and scar me for all of eternity.

So, when the NHL adult money started rolling in, I got myself some guinea pigs. Teammates bought cars or houses, and I bought myself a small rodent. Hardly anyone knows about the half dozen vermin with their own bedroom in my apartment, and I plan to keep it that way.

Rose, Lily, and Bluebell are my most outgoing pigs. They’ll eat out of the palm of my hand, and Rose will even sit on my shoulder. I found out Lily likes to eat hair, so she doesn’t get a chance to be close to my head. Daffodil and Daisy seem to have imprinted on each other, and will only cooperate if the other is involved. I found an extra-large exercise ball for them to use together.

After filling all of their food dishes with the fruits and veggies, I turn down the lights and quietly relax into the plush, cozy oversized chair in the corner of the room. Watching my pigs inhale their treats is so peaceful to me. They don’t have anxiety, or concerns about the future. They eat, sleep, play, and poop. That’s it. Basic necessities of life.

I smile as my eyes drift closed. I wonder what Becca would say about my pig room. As NerdGirl, she would probably find ithumorous, and expect me to regale her with humorous tales of their antics. I find myself thinking Becca would probably want to come see them. She’d be curious, asking a ton of questions, but be apprehensive about touching, or holding them.

The thought of having Becca in my apartment, in my space, brings a wave of peace across me, and I fall asleep thinking of her.

“Right there! Right there!”I scream as I charge toward the boards. It’s a rare afternoon game in Indianapolis, two weeks into the season. We’re tied late in the third period, but as I point toward Shears, he manages to snatch the puck away from the Hawks defensemen. He flips it to Billings, who passes it to me, and I’m in perfect position. Settling my weight on my back skate, I swing my stick, smashing the puck into the air. It soars right over the goalie’s left shoulder, and the red goal light turns on. Red is my favorite color.

“Let’s fucking go!” Billings shouts as the guys jump on me. Looking up at the clock, I see there’s only thirty seconds remaining. All we need to do is keep the puck on this side of the ice, and we’ll get our fourth win of the season. We lost our home opener, which was humiliating. None of us even went to our favorite bar after the game. Charlie’s Pub has long been a staple for the Wolves players. With a back room that only some people are allowed to enter, we can relax and unwind after a game. But not after that first one. Nope, we all went home to sulk in private.

Coach switches out the defensemen, but leaves me, Shears, and Billings on the ice. We’re typically not on the ice for thislong, but I’m sure he’s thinking we’re his best shot at preventing a goal. I’ve learned that Shears has ridiculous skills with his hockey stick. Billings, in turn, is honestly half defenseman, and will run over anyone. I’m the quickest on the team.

“Goalie! Goalie! They pulled the goalie!” Gabe shouts from behind us. Shit. Now it’s like a fucking power play, with the Hawks having four forwards to our three. We can’t let our guards down for even a half second. Fortunately, the Hawks get their communication lines messed up, because one forward sits back, far enough that Shears swoops in to steal the puck. The crowd groans as he swiftly heads down to score in an empty net, right as the horn blows, signaling the end of the game. We win, with a final score of four to two.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Coach shouts as we pass him on the way to the visitors’ locker room. There’s a palpable energy as we cool off and unwind, especially after a win. Coach gives us a pep talk. He chooses the guy who essentially wins ‘player of the game,’ and that player gets a ridiculously large wolf medallion on a very heavy gold chain. Not surprisingly, Shears gets it this time, and gives us a few words.

“Nice game, boys. Let’s keep it up,” he says shortly. Nodding at everyone, he takes the obnoxious wolf necklace off and turns away from everyone. Shears may take the prize from Levi for quietest on the team. Levi has never been much for crowds, and he definitely hates when it’s his turn to speak to the media. He just wants to play hockey, and not deal with any of the other bullshit.

Once everyone is showered and packed up, we make our way to the team bus. We’re staying overnight at a hotel a few minutes from the arena before heading to Cleveland tomorrow for another game. I’m one of the first on the bus, and I pull up social media as I settle in to my seat.

I jump up as soon as I read the Denver news stories, including one about how chief meteorologist Becca Stephens is taking time off to be with her family due to the death of her father. “What the fuck?”

Opening up my texts, I immediately ask if she’s okay.

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