Page 76 of Whirlwind
I don’t know.
“Sticking feathers up your butt doesn’t make you a chicken,” Tyler Durden once said. Just like dating a man doesn’t make me wifey material.
Once again, I’m left clinging to whatever I can get while all this lasts.
“Yes, I’ll go to the gala with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod several times, until he stills me with fingers on my chin and a kiss to my lips.
“You know that makes us…more, in the eyes of the rest of the team.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Fuck yeah, I am. As long as you are, too.”
“I am,” I say, sounding more confident than I should. I’m good around the team, having spent plenty of time with them in casual settings over the years. That’s not worrying—being labeled a wag is. That’s not really my scene, and I have little interest in invites to all their bachelorette parties or baby showers with women I barely know. While I like to dress up now and then, primping daily sounds about as fun as walking over hot coals barefoot.
The ladies are nice enough, but they’re also reminiscent of the girls who relentlessly shunned me and called me a weirdo nerd my whole life. I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly comfortable in that environment, and I don’t know how that would impact Tyson over the long run.
“Hugo is going to be so sad.”
“The poor guy. I should probably break up with you and date him.”
“Try and see what happens, Ashcroft.”
19
Tyson
Iskate behind the net, crashing into Svetsky, our sticks battling for control of the puck. The regular season is coming to a close. If we win this game, we clinch our playoff position. We’re tied in overtime; whoever scores first, wins. I want that win. We all do, of course, but Colorado isn’t a contender in post-season play. Their win would only mean we have to fight that much harder to secure our place.
Fuck that.
I jostle the puck loose, passing it off to Wallin, who keeps control down the ice. Then, it’s my turn to take a break on the bench. This was a long shift—I could use the breather. Cillian hops the boards, beelining it to where Wallin and Letty pass the puck back and forth, waiting for a clear path to goal.
Colorado’s defenseman tries to get in his way, but Wylder anticipates it, maneuvering around him. He finds a clear line, and Wallin passes to him. The timing is perfect; their goalie’s line of sight blocked as Cill shoots…and scores!
The bench erupts, along with the spattering of Seattle fans in the stands. If this were a home game, it would be so loud we wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves over the crowd. Whatever, though—securing a playoff spot is fucking amazing no matter where we are.
It’s been years since I’ve been in a real run for the cup. The last time, we were taken out in the first round. The time before that was the same. The Blades have won it once. I hope, more than anything, they get it again this season and I’m here with them through it all.
It’s been my biggest dream for as long as I can remember. Every hockey player dreams of that, of course. It’s hard to remember when it’s within reach, though. It’s impossible to believe anyone could want it as badly as me. And it’s easier to lie to yourself that you deserve it more, have worked harder than everyone else. The competitive drive digs in deep, takes a firm hold, becomes your sole focus.
The chase is all I know. Seems I’m always chasing something—the NHL, the cup, a woman.
“Great job getting that puck away from Svetsky,” Cillian says once we’re in the locker room and the excited chatter has calmed down.
“Thanks, and nice shot. Heading to playoffs feels better than I remember.”
“It’s been a spell since you’ve had a post-season.”
“Too fucking long,” I agree. “Not much I want in life. The cup is one of the few.”
“I remember that feeling well,” he says. “Even after you get it—after you get everything else you want—you find something new to want. A second cup, a third…that, I don’t think, ever changes.”
“It’s not enough?” I ask. I understand always chasing the championship—that’s the biggest part of our job, after all. But when you have the rest—a wife, a kid, a family to love, success, wealth—is it still not enough?
