Page 38 of Getting the Grinder
I wouldn’t have made it this far without my skating speed and skills. I still drill on it all the time, my trainer timing me and helping me stay fit enough to keep my times from slipping.
An unexpected opening comes and I take it, firing a slap shot that sends the puck into the net. The arena erupts with cheers, horns and music, my teammates gathering around me.
“There you go, man,” Anson says with a grin.
He really is a nice guy. Faking a relationship with Mara was the best way to avoid dating his sister without offending him. He hasn’t brought his sister up at all since I told him about Mara.
It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s getting me by for now. And for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I’m sure Mara will be willing to show up at events with me now and then for a while.
“Teaching them kids how it’s done!” Andrei says when I return to the bench, clapping me on the knee.
I just nod in response because my knee hurts like a bitch. Usually I get sudden, sharp pain that goes away quickly, but it’s not going away this time.
And even worse, I have to keep playing like nothing’s wrong. I think I’m doing a good job of hiding it. But as soon as we get back to the locker room, the mood light because we won 4–1, our head trainer Marina approaches me.
“What’s up with your left knee?” she asks me.
I shrug. “Just tweaked it. It’s fine.”
“I want to look at it.”
Fuck. That’s going to be excruciating. She’ll do a bunch of range of motion shit and I won’t be able to hide the pain completely.
“Okay, I’ll find you in a little bit.”
She leaves, and I try to think of a way out of it. My pulse pounds as I strip off my gear, my chest aching faintly. There’s a one-hundred-percent chance that if I let her examine my knee, she’ll find out I have a torn meniscus, which will not only mean I have an anxiety attack in the locker room for the second time, but also that I’ll get benched.
Caroline covered for me last time, so no one knew I had an anxiety attack. But I don’t think I’ll get that lucky a second time.
And being benched will be even worse. I’ll get put on rest and I might even have to get surgery. If I’m not pushing myself hard in workouts, practices, and games every day, I’ll lose my edge. I’ll get slower. And I might not be able to get back to where I am.
I can barely hold my shit together now. If I lose my career, especially if it’s because I try to return and let my team down by not being the same player anymore ...
The pain in my chest gets sharper. I breathe in and out, then head for the shower. I wash myself quickly, trying to breathe through the increasing ache in my chest.
It’s not a heart attack. It’s just anxiety. You have medication for this.
My knee is killing me. I just want to go home and sit on my couch with Birdie. The dog sitter I hired spent a few hours with her today since I had to be gone all day and night, so I know she’s okay. I want to sit with her because I need it, not because she does.
I already can’t imagine life without her waiting for me at the door every time I get home. We go on walks and I’ve started jogging with her. She doesn’t like being outside without me, probably because she was abandoned in the freezing cold.
I committed to going out with some teammates after the game, though. If it was just me, I’d tell Carter I’m skipping it, but Mara’s going.
I’m lightheaded. Between my chest and my knee, it’s all I can do to put on a happy face when I leave the locker room.
“Hey Abbott, great game,” Dana, a security guard, calls out.
“Thanks.”
I duck my head and take the fastest route I can to the parking lot. Once I’m alone in my car, I put both hands on my steering wheel and rest my forehead on my hands, taking a few deep breaths.
Though I escaped Marina tonight, she’ll find me tomorrow and force me into an exam. Getting out of there was supposed to make me feel better, but my chest pain is getting worse.
Fuck. What if it is a heart attack this time?
I have medication for anxiety attacks at home. I need to convince Mara to leave this dinner as quickly as possible so I can get home and get some medication in me.
That’s going to be easier said than done—especially when they’ll have wine at the restaurant. She usually doesn’t eat much, if anything, before dinner, so she’ll want to eat and drink.
