Page 146 of The Husband Game

“I know,” he said, frustrated. “I was off today. I’ll get it together soon, I promise.”

Matty shrugged and leaned on his stick. “Dude, I get it. We’re all feeling a little fucked up about what’s going on with Haler. You’re allowed to have an off practice sometimes. It’s not like this was a playoff game. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Matty gave him a dubious look. “But you can talk to me if you need to.”

“Thanks, man.” Dustin gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Appreciate it. I’ll get it together though. Now, help me gather up the pucks. I want to shoot one more bucket.”

Matty groaned. “Another one?”

“One more, please?”

“Fine. But only one. I’m not making the equipment staff stay super late for you again. Besides, we need you to be able to play tomorrow.”

But Dustin still felt off on Wednesday night as he skated onto the ice for their fifth exhibition game.

He’d never felt less prepared. His head wasn’t in it the way it should be and he closed his eyes as the anthem singer sang Oh, Canada.

Charlie wasn’t here tonight which didn’t help.

It shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t even a real game and Dustin had spent his whole career playing without Charlie watching, so it shouldn’t be any different from usual.

But the thought nagged at him.

Charlie had a work event he needed to attend and he was going to be here for the first home game of the regular season next week and that was all that mattered.

But Dustin would have found it comforting to know Charlie was watching tonight.

Dustin patted the slight bump under his jersey from the wedding ring he now wore on a chain and tried to quiet his mind.

But he still felt jittery and strange as Dominic took the faceoff against the Montreal Lynx.

Their opponents immediately captured the puck and though Dustin battled hard to get it back, they kept possession.

For his first few shifts of the game, Dustin perpetually felt like he was always in the wrong spot. His passes didn’t connect and his frustration grew with every missed shot and turnover.

His teammates weren’t doing any better and the game remained scoreless through the first ten minutes of the period.

Chad Morrison, one of Montreal’s wingers, boxed Dustin in against the boards, whacking at his skates to get the puck.

“Shit, you can’t hit the broad side of a barn tonight, Fowler. What have you been doing, boozing it up like your D-man Hale?”

Dustin’s frustration boiled over. He threw his weight sideways at Morrison, knocking him off balance enough Dustin could turn to face him. He shoved at Morrison with his stick, catching him in the chest, and the linesman blew the whistle.

“Penalty box, Fowler!”

Dustin scowled. “Oh come on! That wasn’t—”

“I said penalty box. That was an unprovoked cross-check.”

“Unprovoked? Are you fucking kidding me?” Dustin argued. “He said—”

“I don’t care what he said. Get your ass to the box, now.”

Dustin glowered as the ref took hold of him, steering him toward the box.

He stomped his way over to the bench and seethed as he listened to them announce the two-minute minor.

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