Page 22 of Offside

Wolf smacks the end of his stick on the ice in front of him with a loud growl. Seems fitting, considering his name.

“Atta boy, Costa,” I cheer. I stop in front of my scrimmage partner and tap the top of his helmet, then skate in front of the slot and give Soren a tap on his shoulder pad. “Sorry, Wolfie. Better now than when it really counts, eh?”

Soren’s eyes shoot daggers at me as he flips his mask to the top of his head and grabs for the plastic water bottle sitting on the net. He takes a giant swig before dousing his head with it.

“I should’ve had that fucker.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Wolf,” Cale shouts over his shoulder at our goalie, a smile splitting wide across his bearded cheeks. “You’ll move up from the Peewees soon enough.”

We laugh at the insult and Wolf’s correspondingfuck you, Cost,and skate off to the bench as the next shift takes the ice. Today’s our final day of camp and after our day off tomorrow, we’ll have our first preseason game on Saturday against Toronto. Thankfully, it’s on home ice so we don’t have to travel, which is a good thing because the charity event I’ve been ordered to attend is tomorrow night. I want to get a good night’s sleep after that so I can be rested and ready for battle on Saturday night.

We normally take things pretty easy on the preseason games, the purpose to identify where our holes are in our defensive lines, work out some of the plays we’ve practiced during the training camp, and let the prospects show what they’ve got in hopes of gaining a spot on the roster.

I join the bench, grab some water, and watch as the next group of guys battle it out in front of us. A strange feeling of nostalgia washes over me, followed by a moment of profound sadness, as I realize that this will be my final day of training camp ever.

This could be it. That’s all she wrote. I may never have this moment again.

My entire career flashes before my eyes as I watch our number one draft pick this season rookie, Shaw Benning, who has already demonstrated that he’s everything he’s been touted to be. A sensational player who has all the drive and talent that I had when I started my career a million years ago.

I consider all that I’ve done in these past eighteen seasons—the wins, the losses, the struggles to overcome injuries, the work I put into outsmarting and outskating my opponents, the championship highs, the crushing lows.

Do I have anything to show for all of it now?

There’s my championship ring from the year I played on the Stanley Cup winning team. I’ll have won the Norris a couple of times. I may even have my number retired with the Vikings.

But outside of hockey? I’ve got nothing to show for my life, no personal attachments and no one waiting in the wings once I retire.

My stomach fills with a dread I’ve only felt once before.

And there is fuck all I can do about it now.

10

Karis

The fundraiser starts at six p.m. with an open bar, which gave me plenty of time to have my hair, makeup, and nails done after leaving the office at three.

Christine wanted me to indulge in some extra extravagant beauty regimen since it’s my birthday, after all.

“If a girl can’t splurge on her birthday and not feel guilty about it, when can she?” she’d wisely said when I put up a fuss over the unnecessary treatment.

The guilt, however, comes from the fact that I won’t get a chance to fly down to Seattle this weekend to check in on Marv. With tonight’s event and the game against Toronto tomorrow night, my schedule won’t allow me the time.

I did, however, FaceTime with him for a few minutes while I waited for my hair color to process. The nurse on duty, Geneva, is a sweet woman who always offers a kind smile and words of positivity. She held the phone at Marv’s bedside so he could hear my voice as I spoke with him and filled him in on how everything is going.

It never fails to choke me up when I talk to Marv. I can’t help wondering if I’m doing the right thing.

All the doctors I’ve consulted with have offered conflicting opinions on the status of his medical condition and whether he will ever come out of this coma. One, Dr. Shikary, a soft-spoken doctor with an even better bedside manner, did at least offer me some hope with a therapy she recommended.

“I know it’s a difficult position to be in, Ms. Spurlock, and at times it feels useless.” The doctor gently laid her hand over mine and smiled. “By employing these simple activities associated with the coma stimulation program, you may help in the overall recovery. His brain may not function in a responsive way, but it gives you something constructive to do.”

I grapple with what to do on a daily, if not hourly, basis. There are people out there who believe Marv will never pull through. And even if he does, I know his long-term cognitive and physical functions could be severely impacted.

But I won’t give up on him. Marv was there by my side after my accident nearly fifteen years ago and gave me hope when there was little for me to hold on to. He guided me through the toughest part of my life. He may not have showered me with love or physical affection, but what he offered was just as valuable.

That’s why I won’t give up on him when the going gets tough. He’s all I have to hang on to in this world.

I won’t lose you, too, Marv.

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