Page 73 of The Tape Job
“Sure. Friends.”
We hang up and I can’t help smiling. I feel like we’re finally moving forward. But the next challenge I face is Ryan, and I wince when his name pops up on the screen. I know he’s livid.
Sitting on the bench instead of playing is every hockey player’s worst nightmare. Having an injury is frustrating as hell, but when you’re benched for your own shortcomings—it’s a fucking travesty.
To make matters worse, I’ve got to sit here in a suit and smile and pretend to be happy. I’m all for showing support, but it’s difficult while I watch my teammates struggle tocover my spot. Of course, Ryan isn’t struggling, but the overall effort has increased. And they’ve switched Matt Rodgers to play wing aside my brother, and it’s a complete gong show.
Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Without a doubt.
I’m pissed I didn’t get a clean hit on Johnny, but I don’t want to miss out on ice time, so I need to rein it in. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had to sit out with a fake lower-body injury.
While playing a road game, Ryan got into a fight outside when he went to grab something from the bus. He witnessed a confrontation between one of the opposing forwards and a girl—with raised voices and heated exchanges. Next thing Ryan knew, the guy threw a punch, missed, and Ryan retaliated. One thing led to another, and the opposition coach was pulling our coach to the side to have a word, telling him that Ryan Preston had been seen beating the shit out of one of his boys.
Miraculously, Ryan escaped without a scratch, bar some swelling on his right hand. And when he was whispering frantically about his fuck up, I couldn’t help but tell Coach it was me, not Ryan.
That road game wasn’t just any road game. Scouts from the WHL were there, and I knew Ryan had been building up to this moment for a long-ass time. I was lucky that I had a good record, and once Coach knew the score, he cleared it with the opposition. And they agreed to leave it lay and not get the cops involved—probably to save their reputation more than anything.
“Because you’re a good kid, I’ll put you down as a lower-body injury,” Coach had whispered before sweeping out of the room.
Three games I had to miss, and three games Ryan impressed enough to get an offer. And then he spent the rest of the season expressing his gratitude, saying he’d make it upto me someday—which he did. And now he’s planning the rest of his life around that repaid favour.
I shuffle left as I see him skating towards my end of the bench. He swings his legs over and slides in next to me.
“What did Vicky want earlier?” he pops his mouthguard out as he leans forward. Despite him looking ahead, I know he’s waiting for a reply.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“She seemed to have something to say.” He glances at me, and I swear to God he can read my mind sometimes. “You need closure.” He mops a towel over his forehead then wipes down his visor before tossing it aside. “You can’t continue as you are. You’ve not been yourself since you got here, and it’s starting to piss me off.”
As he takes his next shift, guilt floods through me—all this because I couldn’t exercise any self-control.
There’s shuffling on the bench, and Bettsy slides down, followed by Johnny. I do my best to ignore them both, putting my concentration on the game.
The next time I speak is when Ryan’s next to me again.
“Did she tell you the full story? Why she called it off?”
“Sort of,” I reply.
“I thought you said she had nothing to say,” he snaps.
Well, shit. He got me there. And now he’s really pissed.
I think for a moment then decide to tell him what the current situation is. “I think we’re going to try this friends’ thing,”
But then he’s gone again. I watch him closely this time, leaning over the boards, my elbows on the edge.
“Come on, bud, move your feet,” I yell, encouraging him to skate harder out of a turn he’s aiming for. I know how he plays, and I can tell he’s not playing his best.
He sails around and receives a pass from Rodgers, sneaking it past the opposition’s defence before he fires it at the net, where it narrowly misses with a ‘clink’. Anaudible groan from the crowd emulates the frustration on my brothers’ face. I can’t make it out, but he shouts something at Matt. An angry something.
Fortunately, we’re up by two at the end of the first, so it’s not as bad as it could be. But I still feel terrible; I’m replaying Ryan’s clanger. And when we’re heading back to the dressing room, I walk beside him.
“I could have gotten that rebound if I had been there. That would have been an easy goal,” I say, but I swiftly realise I should shut my damn mouth.
“Well, you weren’t there, were you? When will you quit messing up and be present? I’m getting sick of the half-assed effort, Lee. There’s always something that gives you an excuse to lose your concentration. Either you’re in and out of the box or—” He pauses. “You need to sort your shit out.” The dressing room door slams behind him.
I don’t follow him, knowing that at times like this, it’s best to give him space. Instead, I loiter outside. I’ve fucked up. I know he’s right. I need to fix things and stay out of my own mind. I hear a camera shutter to my left. My head snaps towards Vicky, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling at me as she smiles and it feels like everything has changed between us.
