Page 37 of Getting the Grinder
Mara: I will.
Leo: Okay, see you after. Goodnight.
Mara: Night.
Chapter Thirteen
Leo
* * *
“Why is the fucking bench wet?” I gripe, wiping it off with a towel.
“Might be shit,” Carter mutters. “This whole bench smells like a frat house toilet.”
We just came back to the bench after a line change, and I’m gassed. It was a long shift of nonstop skating up and down the ice. I’m breathing hard when I finally sit down.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Carter’s leaning forward, talking to Lucien, who’s a couple guys to my right.
“It’s fucking Bash.” Lucien says. “It’s always Bash.”
Carter looks at Bash, who’s sitting on his other side.
“It’s that Alfredo sauce,” Bash says. “Why do we have Alfredo sauce before a game?”
Carter shakes his head. “It’s not the chef’s fault you’re ripping so much ass, there’s probably a hole in the ass of your pants.”
“I can’t help it.”
Our second offensive line is killing it tonight. They’ve scored both goals we have on the board so far. Jack Grover fires a puck at the net and I lean forward, willing it to go in.
“Nice, Grover!” I yell.
It brushes against the edge of the net, but misses. I groan in disappointment, along with most of the fans in the arena.
When I see Grover skating toward the bench, I get up, positioning myself to replace him as quickly as I can. As soon as he’s close enough, I move from the wall onto the ice, digging my skate blades in hard to help me catch up.
I’m pretty sure Mara’s here. Carter said Suki told him she was coming. I resisted my urge to text her all day, making myself focus on my game-day routine instead.
Her tortured expression yesterday really got me. I’ve called her icy and void of emotions many times, but she’s really the opposite. She feels a lot. Though she tries to make it look like nothing gets to her, she feels like a failure sometimes. Same as me.
When play stops, I look up at Carter’s season ticket seats. I can barely make out Mara’s dark hair beside Suki. Suki and the girls sometimes watch from one of the boxes, but they prefer to watch games from the stands, where they’re closer to the action.
Something about trying to make Mara feel better yesterday made me feel more grounded today. I kept myself in my routine, but stayed ready in case she texted that her day wasn’t any better. I even thought about how I’d respond.
People don’t usually come to me for comfort or advice. Carter is our team captain, and if someone on our team needs guidance on something, whether it’s hockey or just life, he’s the one they go to.
Bash is a lighthearted extrovert who would listen if someone needed him to. He can be serious when he needs to be.
I’m more of a loner. I love my teammates and they’re like my family, but I never let anyone see too much of the real me. I hardly ever have anyone over because I don’t want people getting an up-close view of me.
My meds sit on my kitchen counter. A bookshelf in my living room has lots of sci-fi and history books, but also self-help ones. Books about anxiety and depression that Dr. Laudner has recommended. My home is the only place I can completely let my guard down, so I don’t hide the things I don’t want other people to see. I just don’t invite anyone over.
Carter and Bash are on the ice with me now, and we fall into our rhythm of passing. No more thinking about Mara; I have to focus completely on the game.
One of Toronto’s defenders slams into me and I hit the boards, pain lancing through my knee when it gets turned sharply and suddenly. I elbow him and recover, getting away quickly.
Skating fast and well has been drilled into me since I was a kid. My youth hockey coach emphasized skating fundamentals above anything else, and I’m a better player for it. He used to tell us we wouldn’t be able to make a basket or hit a home run on ice skates unless we had mastered skating first, and hockey is no different.
