Page 102 of Double Pucked

“What was the point then?”

He stops and I do too. Oliver’s young, but in this moment, he seems wise beyond his years as he meets my gaze straight on. “The point was to let your fans know who you are.” He takes a beat, still intensely serious. “Someone who loves his family, who cares about his sisters, his mom, his grandmother. Someone who gives books to a library. Who gets a jersey signed by teammates and helps donate it to rescue dogs. That’s who. The rest? You can’t control it. Sometimes you let it go and focus on what you can control.”

I didn’t haveget good life advicefrom the PR guyon my bingo card today, but I’ll take it. I ease up on my doubt. “I appreciate all that. Thank you, Oliver,” I say genuinely.

“If you want to sit out of any press conferences, that’s fine with me.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

But mostly, I spend the day thinking about all the things I don’t think I can control. And trying to figure out if I can control any of them.

Then I get on the ice, and I play my best, blocking passes, rattling the other team, not letting up even an inch, and doing everything I can for the Avengers for all three periods.

It’s a tight game, and it comes down to the wire as they attack in the final few seconds. But I’m all focus as the Seattle center flies down the ice like he’s hellbent on tying it up and forcing overtime.

Nope. Not today.

I’m there, blocking the shot before he even reaches Dev, and the buzzer sounds, signaling our victory.

* * *

Later, I don’t take the easy way out. I retreated last night. I won’t do it again. I talk to the press after the game and I don’t grunt. I don’t swear either.

I do say we played hard against a tough opponent. “But I’m glad we won,” I add, even though I still feel empty.

But I keep that part all to myself.

38

DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING

Chase

Here’s the thing about New York fans. They don’t just hate you. They really fucking hate you.

Which is why it’s that much sweeter that I’m finally in the zone again with, count ’em not one, but two goals over the New York Rogues in their famed arena on Wednesday night. And the rabid fans have not let up with their chants ofbad luck charm.

Yeah, real creative.

Pisses me off. But makes me play even harder. Trina wasn’t a bad luck charm. Not one bit. She is fucking incredible, but nope.

Can’t think about her on the ice.

Not during the game. Not at all. And I won’t get cocky even with our three-goal lead.

With only a few minutes left, I’m skating hard. Ledger has the puck, and he’s racing to the net. He takes aim, and then it comes: a mighty shot that smashes into the net’s twine and pads the lead.

The boos are deafening but still crystal clear.

Bad luck charm.

A few minutes later, when the horn sounds, signaling the end of the game, the jeers intensify, the brand-new insult rising in volume.

It’s not even apropos given we won, but that’s beside the point. I knew someone would say it. It started online a few days ago and picked up steam. But at least we’re winning again, and that’s all that matters.

On the way to the locker room, I rip off my helmet and Andrei high-fives me. “Nice work,” he says, then smacks palms with Ledger too. “And you too, old man.”

Ledger thumps Andrei’s head. “Where was your goal tonight, kid?”

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