Page 15 of Vital Blindside

Memories come crashing in, bringing me back to that game. To the pain—both physical and emotional—and how broken it left me.

There are three minutes left in the third period. I’m dripping sweat. It’s in my eyes, hanging off my nose. I shake my head and let it fling away.

My grip on my stick is near-painful as I rest the blade on the ice and hold the stare of the Mississauga Bears first line centre. She settles her stick across from mine and grins wickedly. I ignore it.

The puck drops between our blades, and our shoulders touch when we move forward, but it’s me that scoops the puck and passes it back between my legs. It’s my seventh consecutive faceoff win this period.

Cassidy Lion spits my name as I skate around her and lead my team toward the Mississauga zone. My teammate passes me the puck, and it hits my blade before two Bears players cover me, pushing us toward the boards. I battle them for the puck, pushing at them and kicking the puck, trying to dislodge it.

Another player moves behind me, and I recognize the red and gold on their jersey as one of my teammates. There’s no time to feel relieved. We’re still outnumbered, but by some miracle, I manage to kick out the puck and push it out and away with my stick, hoping a Blaze player is ready to collect it.

The pressure on my shoulders alleviates as everyone skates off toward the puck, and I spin around, ready to do the same.

I don’t see her. Not until it’s too late. A blindsided hit.

The pain is instant. By the time I realize what’s happening, my helmet is already smacking the boards, and my body follows. I gasp, winded.

Crumpling to the ice, I fight back a wretch at the pain in my upper body. I can’t tell what’s wrong. It hurts everywhere. Am I bleeding? Did I hit my head?

A cry escapes me when I try to lift my arm and pull my helmet off. Searing pain slices through my shoulder. No. Fuck.

I shut my eyes and let the first of many tears escape.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks gently. I wince at the memory and ignore the phantom pain in my shoulder.

He’s standing a few feet away, his face tight with concern. I swallow and force a nod.

I can do this. I can do this. This isn’t the same as before. One step in front of the other, Scarlett. Slowly, I move my skate forward and push myself into a slow glide.

Adam’s eyes watch me as I push off my other skate and move further down the ice. It’s like breathing after years of suffocating. Each swipe of my skates across the ice has the debris clearing from my lungs.

Pride quickens my pulse. It’s such a small win, but the importance of it doesn’t escape me. I did it.

“Can you do a couple laps?” Adam shouts when I start creating a distance between us.

Can I do a couple laps? I scowl. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t reply, and I tune him out, focusing on not letting my knees shake like a newborn deer. I’m not even going fast, but I’m already panting.

And as we continue with our first session, it only gets worse. Half an hour later, I’m huffing, “I quit.”

Adam’s laughter echoes around the rink from his place by the boards, and I halt my wheezing just to flip him the middle finger. With my fingers digging into my waist, I lean back and try to catch my breath.

Sweat pools at the back of my neck, my forehead, and between my boobs. The idea of falling to my belly and placing my cheek to the ice is an attractive one. I haven’t worked this hard in months, and it shows.

We didn’t touch on anything beyond simple stick handling and skating tests, yet I feel like I’ve just run a marathon with weights tied to my ankles. There’s a bright feeling of success there too, but I don’t pay it too much attention. There’s still so much to do.

“No you don’t. Catch,” he says before throwing a bottle of water at me. I catch it and unscrew the cap before drinking the entire thing in one go.

“I wasn’t under the impression that I was the one in need of training,” I state.

Keeping my eyes on him, I skate to the boards and set the empty bottle by the exit, the muscles in my side straining and crying as I do. There’s a twinkle in Adam’s brown eyes that makes me narrow mine.

“You’re not. But what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t know your strengths and weaknesses before throwing you into a position to teach someone else?”

“A shit one.”

Adam tips his head back and laughs freely. I’ve noticed that he does that a lot—laughs without a care in the world. More than anyone else I know. “You’re honest. I like that.”

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