Page 25 of My Pucked Up Enemy

He passes the puck to Ethan, who taps it twice against his knee.

“I need to trust myself again. That’s all.”

The puck rests in his lap as the silence stretches a moment longer.

I step in gently. “It’s not about blame. It’s about seeing each other again. You’re not a roster, you’re a team. And a team doesn’t just pass the puck. They pass the weight.”

No one makes a joke this time.

I end the session on a high note, intentionally giving the puck to Alex again. He looks at it like it’s radioactive, then flips it once in his hand.

"One more for the road, Alex."

Alex twirls the puck again. “Fine. I need someone on this team to stop giving James dating advice. It's like watching a squirrel try to solve a Rubik’s Cube.”

Laughter rolls through the room.

Then, quieter, more serious: “I need to remember that just because I stand alone in the crease doesn’t mean I’m playing the game alone.”

Silence again. But this time, it’s reverent.

Then, from across the circle, James says, “You’re still a pain in the ass, if that helps. And for the record, I get ghosted way less than you, goalie boy.” He points at Alex with mock seriousness. “Pretty sure your last date left during appetizers.”

Alex smirks. “She had a gluten allergy. I ordered nachos. That one’s on me.”

James chuckles. “Eh, fair. But seriously, what you just said about being alone in the crease…that was solid. Almost made me feel things. Almost.”

The room exhales in laughter.

And I make another mental note:They’re getting there.

***

Later, we’re on the ice, just before practice. I’m standing near the boards in gloves and a puffer vest, blowing warm air into my hands while the players stretch and skate lazy laps.

“Circle up,” I call out, raising my voice just enough to echo.

There’s groaning, chirping, but they comply.

Coach Stephens chimes in. "Guys, you will be giving Dr. Erwin your full cooperation or you will be answering to me. And trust me, I won't be nearly as pleasant."

I continue. “Today, we’re walking through a perfect shift in our mind's eye. Eyes closed. From the locker room to the final whistle. Stay present. Stay with me.”

A few guys sneak peeks, smirking. James mouths something to Ethan. I don’t want to know.

“Close your eyes,” I repeat.

And miraculously, they do.

My voice softens as I guide them. “You pull on your jersey. You feel the pads, the weight of expectation. You walk the tunnel. Your skates hit the ice. Hear the crowd. Smell the rubber and sweat. You line up for the faceoff. You’re in position. You see the puck drop. You move.”

They shift slightly, muscles twitching like they’re actually playing.

“Control your breath. Anticipate. React. Trust.”

A pause.

“Goal horn sounds. You’ve won. You come back to the bench with your heads high. That’s where we end.”

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