Page 168 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath. I know where this is going.
They keep the conversation light and focused on hockey as we clean up and dress. But the second we’re sitting down with food in front of us, they change tack.
“What’s going on, Rivers?” Linc asks, his eyes boring into mine.
I shrug one shoulder and drop my gaze to my plate.
I’ve played hockey all my life, been surrounded by teammates, some of which I’ve been closer to than others, but never have any of them actively sat me down to discuss feelings and shit.
Even when I discovered I was going to be a father and all the fucking bullshit that followed, everyone mostly just left me to do my thing. Hockey was my solace then. Being at the arena, on the ice, was the only time I was able to push reality aside.
Despite what’s going on right now being less life-changing than becoming a parent, I’m struggling to find any relief from it. Casey…she’s in my head twenty-four-fucking-seven. It doesn’t matter how hard I push, how fast I skate; she’s always there. Taunting me. Tempting me. Reminding me what a fucking awful human being I am.
I’ve disrespected the one man I admire more than any other.
James Watson is a hockey god. A fucking legend.
And I’ve done the one thing he asks us not to.
I’ve touched his daughter.
No, it’s worse than that. I haven’t just touched her, I’ve?—
“Come on, man. We’re worried about you.” Fletch’s words rattle around in my head, banishing my previous thoughts.
I’ve never had teammates who care like this. I’ve never had them fighting this hard to be my friends, despite having my walls built so high they’re impossible to scale.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” Handsy says with a knowing smirk.
“Yeah,” I confess. “It is. I’ve spent all fucking summer with Sutton, and we’re about to leave for a two-week stretch. I fucking hate it.”
“That’s tough, man,” Handsy says, although considering he’s chronically single, I’m not sure he really stands a chance of empathizing.
“I get it,” Fletch says. He’s the closest here to understanding, seeing as he leaves his wife behind almost every time we go. Sure, she flies out to join us for some games, but she’s got a job and a life here. I can’t help but wonder if it’s why they don’t have kids yet. Leaving is really fucking hard. “It fucking sucks, man.”
“Yeah,” I muse, spearing a carrot with my fork and pushing it into my mouth.
Linc remains quiet, his eyes still on me, I fear looking for a lie.
He won’t find one. Leaving Sutton is a huge part of my issue right now. It’s just not all of it.
“Is she coming to any of our road games?” Handsy asks, forcing me to look over at him.
I shake my head. “She’s desperate to come to Boston, but it’s too far. She’s got school and her own team to think about.”
“We need to go to one of her games,” Fletch announces.
I can’t help but laugh at the image of them all in the stands, watching Sutton and her team chase the puck around. It’s not the kind of game they’re used to.
“Yeah, we should,” Linc agrees.
“You can’t go just to hit on the moms, moron,” Handsy mutters as he reaches out and slaps Linc upside the head.
“That’s not what I meant. The girls’ and women’s leagues are growing. We should show our support.”
We stare at him, seeing right through his bullshit.
“And if there just so happens to be a hot hockey mom, then…”
