Page 68 of Gravity
As expected, we’re playing against Seattle. Seattle left the rest of the Western Conference as wreckage in their wake, and now, we're facing each other again. This time, it’s for the Stanley Cup. For all of the glory. For everything.
They are a good team, and a hard one to beat. We defeated them twice in the regular season, and after their first loss, they went away and studied how to challenge us. They came closer to beating us in the second game, but by then, the Étoiles had become something more than a team, something stronger and greater than just twenty men skating for a winning score. Still, our hardest game this season was that second victory over Seattle.
They have done their homework, and they have spent the months since preparing to challenge us again.
We feel the result of their preparations right away. In the first game, they come out punishingly strong with their aggressive checking and full-body play. Earlier this season, we were able to out-skate them, but they've clearly been working on their speed. The team isn't able to escape their checks as easily as before. Etienne is crunched against the boards and is slow to get up in the first period, and in the second, MacKenzie is checked so hard he slides thirty feet down the ice before he's able to claw his way to a stop.
I help my brothers with their skates, bring water and Gatorade, re-tape sticks and shin pads and skates. I fetch bags of ice, or heat wraps, or KT tape and elastic bandages. Anything I can do for them, I do it.
We win the first game, but at a cost. There are a multitude of injuries, and the team is exhausted, as if they played seven full games in one night.
It takes four wins to lift the Cup.
Calisse, we have a long way to go.
* * *
Seattle makes that journey longer.After six games, we are deadlocked at three wins apiece, and the next and final game—Game Seven—becomes a must-win game for both teams. There is no game eight. One team will win and win it all, and the other will be the has-beens.
I am desperate to play. Every game, I move behind the bench like I have skates on my feet, shifting my weight from hip to hip as if I'm out on the ice. My hands reach for a stick automatically, and I make moves like I can take that pass, poke that puck, turn and carry it up the wing before slinging it to Hunter or Slava at the point.
My team needs me. My brothers are worn down to their bones. Exhaustion is a weight they are dragging like a ball and chain, and though their spirits are high, their bodies are fraying. I learn how to wrap ankles and thighs and hips, and how to massage their bruised and battered bodies. The trainers and I spend hours trying to unknot overworked muscles after each game.
At home, I do the same for Hunter. He falls into a cratering unconsciousness as I massage him by candlelight. When he wakes, he and I dissect every moment of each game. I draw plays inXs andOs on his back, attempting to avoid the bruises he's collected. A slash, a check, a trip. An unpenalized cross-check to the numbers. His body is turning black and blue before my eyes.
Ineedto get on the ice. This is what it's all meant,oui? My life, my career. This year, this season. Everything inside of me and everything I have been through. All of it has led to here and now, and to this game.
For two weeks, I've been a part of the Étoiles practices. Coach uses me as an assistant, helping to set up plays and call out adjustments. When I was brought back, simply being on the ice with the team was enough to make me happy, but now, I—and they—need more.
So when Hunter and I arrive at the arena for our team practice the day before Game Seven, I follow him to the dressing room and start pulling down my gear. We're the first ones to arrive, because like me, Hunter now goes onto the ice before everyone else to skate alone and imagine that he is on the river.
“Bryce…” He's on me in a moment, stilling my hands as I lay out my pads. “What are you doing?”
“You know what I'm doing,mon amour. I have to get back out there. I have to play. I have to lead this team.”
“Youdolead this team. You're our leader. You're our heart. We wouldn't be anywhere near where we are without you. It doesn't matter if you're on the ice or on the bench.” He threads his hands in mine and turns me to face him fully. “You are not letting anyone down.”
Calisse, he knows my fears too well. My eyes slide away, and I stare at the floor as his thumbs stroke my fingers.
“Bryce, I would lose the Cup every year for as long as I lived if it meant I got to live those years with you in my arms. And I would rather hang up my skates and never step on the ice again than take a risk with your life. There is nothing—nothing—that is worth risking you for.” He steps closer until we are forehead to forehead. “I am not the only one here who feels this way.”
“But this is everyone's dream—”
“No, our dream was for you to heal. Our dream was for you to come back to us.That'swhat everyone wants, more than the Cup.”
“Hunter…”
“It's true,mon amour.”
My nose brushes against his. He kisses me gently and waits as my thoughts churn. “Hunter, this team has come so close to winning, but each year, there was something we were missing. Now I think we've all found what we each needed. I know what I have found: you. And… myself. I had to find you and fall in love with you,mon amour, to find who I really am.” I breathe in, hold it. “C'est notre moment.I have to do this for them. We have come this far together.” My fingers squeeze around his. “And we have our date on the ice,rappelles toi?”
He kisses my fingers.
“I can do this. You know I can.Tu sais,Hunter. You've skated with me every day. You, more than anyone else, know what I can do.”
“I know,” he whispers. “I know you can. But,” he says gently. “Seattle is pitiless. They're breaking us down, and we don't have an injury like you do. What happens if Seattle targets you? What if they go for your throat?”
I have woken in cold sweat from nightmares that begin exactly that way. A game, a play, taking a crunch against the boards, and then— I can't breathe, and this time, there's no Valery, no Hunter. I'm alone on the ice with no one to turn to, no one to help me, and I choke and drown on my own blood as I try to crawl off the ice.
