Page 6 of Skating and Fake Dating
Today I got dumb slapped. Twice.
First, I received a parking violation ticket because I forgot to move my truck for street sweeping, and then on my way to the Ice Palace, I got called into the coach’s office, preseason. That’s never good.
Having recently been given a “Does Not Play Well With Others” label, I’ve been on thin ice with the league. Today, it turns out, I was selected to be a last-minute trade to a new expansion team in the Pacific Northwest.
Is the disaster my career has become because my high school sweetheart back home rejected my proposal? Could it be that as last season wore on, I became increasingly disheveled, missing a crucial shot that caused the Knights’ playoff elimination? Maybe it’s a result of my post-loss arrest late last spring—admittedly, not my finest moment.
Or all of the above.
The thing is, I’m known for my sharp eye. I lock onto the location of the puck and never lose sight of it. Except for that one time.
I spent the summer redefining myself, turning my focusexclusively to hockey and away from the hole Charlene left in my heart. I went all-in during preseason practice.
The double rejection fundamentally shifted things for me. I went from being dubbed hockey’s laid-back Southern charmer with an easy laugh and a no-hurry approach to life to rigid routines. While I’d never been a complete slob, after the breakup, takeout containers with unidentifiable contents took up residence in my condo. I stopped doing laundry and let myself go from sporty to scruffy.
Not anymore.
My living space and appearance are now immaculate.
Some might say I swung to the other extreme after my short visit to the corner of heartbreak and hobo, but I can’t blow my career because Charlene decided, after ten years of long-distance dating, she was done when I finally popped the big question. I won’t throw away what I’ve worked hard for, not to mention the sacrifices Mom made to get me here.
However, the news Coach Badaszek sprung on me sounds like I’m packing up and moving. But nothing is going to get in my way of winning again, least of all a woman, especially not a blonde one with eyes that may as well contain gold.
Except maybe this new expansion team. I cannot fathom who is going to be on it. Probably the dregs of the NHL. That would include me.
I head to the locker room to gather my gear. I guess this is it. Goodbye, Knights. It’s been nice knowing you. I won’t let the door hit me in the behind on my way out. I get it. I messed up and I don’t blame the coach or anyone else for not wanting dead weight holding them back.
My phone rings. I let my agent’s call go to voicemail. Instead of hanging my head and sulking, I lace up for one more time on the ice of the greatest team I’ve ever known. As I exit the locker room, passing the names engraved on the wooden stalls for each of my teammates, I silently say goodbye. The next time I see them, it’ll be as opponents.
Stick in hand, I shoot around, my thoughts keeping pace with the puck as it bounces off the boards, snaps against my stick, and slides across the ice.
I hate feeling vulnerable, but what I thought was a sure thing—my future with Charlene after over ten years of being a couple—walked away. The career I thought was locked and loaded just took a sharp turn.
I’ve been working hard to get my act together with freshly trimmed hair, a smooth shave, and a button-up shirt. Now I just feel like I’m spinning and it’s not because I’m lapping the rink, practicing puck control.
After a quick shower, I see that I have a dozen missed calls. Clutched in my hand, my phone rings again. It’s Gabe, my agent.
Without preamble, he says, “I did not see this coming.”
Realizing I haven’t said a word since talking with Blondie and Badaszek, my voice is hoarse and it sounds like I’ve been chewing on gravel when I finally speak. “Yeah.”
“I’m shocked. Floored. Surprised does not begin to describe …” He goes on, saying everything I expect him to when finding out his client went from hero to zero.
I don’t want to sound like a sore loser, but I’m not thrilled about this change in my status, so I ask, “Is there anything we can do about it?”
“I’m afraid not. While you were drowning your sorrows or whatever and not answering my calls, I got on the phone with the usual suspects. The team lawyer commented that the rumors about your difficult locker room presence surfaced. Management is concerned about team chemistry. The verbal darts you fired at your opponents, off the ice, won’t fly. You’re not in this game to make enemies, Bama.”
“How would they even know about—?” Sliding my hand down my face, I cut myself off. The end of last season was rough, but I got back on good terms with my teammates over thesummer. It’s obvious they just wanted someone easy to pluck from the Knights for the new team.
Gabe asks, “My thoughts. You want to know my thoughts?” I didn’t ask, but that’s never stopped him from sharing. The man doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. “You’re on thin ice.”
I’m well aware and don’t have it in me to give him a courtesy chuckle at the play on words, which are getting old now because the thing about thin ice is eventually it breaks … or melts.
“You went off the rails after everything with Charlene. So I think having a stable relationship will help you improve your image and get off on the right foot with your new team and the fanbase. Start strong. Carson Crane 2.0. New and improved. To do that, find yourself a girlfriend,” he says like a salesman.
Little does he know, I already had my personal upgrade—mostly, so I didn’t completely fall apart. While I’m determined to have a Stanley Cup win and have been doing extra pec and shoulder workouts so I can hoist the thirty-five-pound trophy with ease, I’m not wading back into the dating world. Definitely not visiting relationship land.
Tone slick, he says, “Listen, I know a few available women who’d love to meet you. See if you vibe, you know?”
