Page 24 of My Virgin Puck

I just want to run up the stands and wrap my arms around her. I need her body against mine again. It’s been four days. Four days too many.

The buzzer sounds for the end of the second period and the scoreboard remains level. The Vikings haven’t gone this long without scoring all season. We’re on a winning stretch that dates back over ten games, and the only losses we’ve recorded have been when we’re without our star players through injury.

Today, we’ve got a full-strength team.

And at the start of the third period, Coach Best’s worst fears are realised.

“GOAL. TORONTO.”

The boos and taunts around the arena suffocate me. The usual red scarves and crazy jumping fans are nowhere to be seen. Toronto start playing dirtier than they were already. Jamie Fisher is sent to the penalty box for shoving the referee and we’re falling apart.

A gut-wrenching feeling grips me when the final buzzer sounds, and the scoreboard reads in defeat for the Vancouver Vikings.

The locker room is deadly silent after the game. Bottles upon bottles of red Gatorade remain untouched in the centre of the room. Usually, they’re being sprayed all over unsuspecting victims in celebration of yet another flogging.

Jacob Rule, the usual operator of the Gatorade showers, is sitting with a glum look across his face, his arms folded across his chest as Coach Best walks ever so slowly into the changerooms and begins walking back and forth in front of the team.

It’s torture. The way Coach is toying with us.

He stays silent, tapping a pen with a slow beat on his clipboard. Like a dripping tap, you wait for the next hit of the pen, and eventually, it doesn’t come.

“In all my years…” Coach Best’s voice is soft. It’s weird. Unusual. It’s scary. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a display as pathetic as that.” He looks up, and his cheeks are quickly drenching into a bright red. “AND YOU HAD TO FUCKING DO IT ON RIVAL’S WEEK! RIVAL’S WEEK! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? USELESS! USELESS PIECES OF GOD DAMN FUCKING SHIT!”

Silence.

I gulp down, hoping to hell Coach Best doesn’t hear it.

“WE’VE GOT ONE MORE GAME AGAINST THEM TOMORROW. YOU’RE ALL TO GO THE HELL BACK TO YOUR WORTHLESS HOMES TONIGHT, GO TO SLEEP AND COME BACK HERE WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING YOUR FAMILIES IN THE EYE. YOU DON’T DESERVE IT. YOU DON’T DESERVE THEM.”

It’s a tough gig being a pro-hockey player under the best coach in the league. He’s the best for a reason. He demands the best. Heck, it’s in his fucking name.

We’re still human though, and this was way out of line.

“Ah, Coach?” I speak up, my voice trying hard to be strong. “We fucked up. It’s just one bad game. We can beat them tomorrow.”

The second his face turns to look at me, I regret everything. Coach Best steams across the room and smashes the clipboard to the floor. The pen flies across to the feet of some of the shocked rookies who are watching on dumbfounded.

Coach gets right in my face, his nostrils flaring. His eyes filled with pure hatred and fury.

“WHAT?” Spit flies from his mouth and hits my nose. “Don’t you think I’ve heard about you and that bimbo? I saw you looking for her. You were the worst on the ice tonight. Pathetic. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING PATHETIC!”

Rage builds into my body and I clench my fists to stem the flow of blood rising up through my neck towards my brain. I force myself to bite down on the words, the frenzy, the fists… Everything that could ruin my entire career if I lash out the way that my body wants to.

“PHONES IN THE BAG!” Coach Best tosses a bag to the middle of the room and points to it. “No contact until after tomorrow’s game. You’re cut off.” He scans the room and latches onto Jamie Fisher. “And don’t even think about using other ways of getting in touch with those skanks you love so dearly. If I so much as hear about anyone breaking this curfew, I’ll tear up your contract myself.”

Coach Best paces around the u-shape of the lockers and looks down his nose at the entire team. It’s silent again, all except for the heavy breathing of our leader as he snarls at every single one of his men.

When he reaches me, I swear he smiles a wicked grin and mumbles something about my career being over.

I gulp down and toss my phone in the bag along with the rest of my teammates.

If that’s the last action I have as a member of the Vikings, at least I know I’ve gone down with a fight. And I’ve given it my best shot.

But if the last few days has taught me anything, it’s that there is more to life than hockey.

---