Page 8 of Bad Pucking Roommate

“Like a shrink?” I arch an uncertain brow in his direction. “Yeah, sign me up to admit how screwed up I am to a total stranger. Might as well just call TMZ and give them the scoop myself.”

“They’re doctors. They have confidentialityagreements.”

“I don’t need a doctor to tell me I’ve created an irrational link between one event and the outcome of another, Dr. Google.” I smirk, holding my glass to him so he can top it off.

Charlie takes my glass and pours us each another finger. “Maybe an actual doctor can give you some exercises to dissolve that link.”

“And how long would that take?” I accept the glass he gives me. “Months? Years? I doubt I could change a decade-long behavior in the course of a few weeks, which is the only option if I don’t want to jeopardize this season.”

“I hate to be blunt, but it seems like it’s either find a new ritual or accept a different level of play as your norm.”

Thank God I’m already sitting, since that statement sends a wave of nausea rolling through me.

“Whoa.” Charlie puts his hand on my arm, steadying me even though I’m in no danger of actually going down. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“It’s okay.” I pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve the tension building behind my eyes. “You’re not wrong, it just scares me to think about it.Iwant to be the one to decide when to hang up the skates, and I’d prefer to go out on top. All this,” I wave my hand in the air in lieu of using actual words, “makes me feel like I’m not in control.”

“I get that. And I hate putting you through this, but Jessie and I can’t put our lives on hold for your career.” He gives my arm a squeeze before pulling away.

Though I want to curl into a ball, I force myself to sit straight. “You got me this far. I can’t ask for more than that.”

“You can ask us anything… Almost anything,” Charlie amends with a tentative smile.

I give him a tight nod and throw back my drink, wiping my mouth with my sleeve as I stand up.

“There’s no need to rush out. Jessie’s bringing dinner home, and the guest room is still yours whenever you want it.”

He’s offering one last night, but I don’t have a game tomorrow, so it feels weird to accept. After all, this was never something I did purely for enjoyment. Well, not since the first night anyway.

I shake my head as I hold out my hand. “Thanks, but if I’m going to find a new routine, I think cold turkey is the way to go.”

Charlie takes my hand and pulls me to his chest, thumping me on the back with his fist in the process. “Don’t be a stranger.” He pulls back and looks me in the eye. “I mean that. Our friendship may be unconventional, but we are friends.”

I give him a curt up-nod. “Tell Jessie I love her.”

Charlie returns the nod and promises to pass on the message, then sees me out.

The drive home is a blur—not because of the alcohol but because of the thoughts in my head. I probably should’ve crashed at their place, but I manage to get through the front door before the gravity of my situation hits, and my hands start to shake as my pulse beats double-time.

Images from my past loop through my mind as I sink to the floor; my first pair of skates, my first goal, getting tackled by my teammates when we won the Frozen Four, hoisting the cup in my third year. I’ve had a great career, one I’m not ready to say goodbye to. I want another cup, maybe another MVP. At the very least I want to stay on the ice as long as my body lets me, and my body isn’t the issue. Not yet.

I don’t know what comes after hockey, and I’m not ready to find out.

It may seem like I have a great life outside the rink, but the reality is the sport is my life. That’s true for any pro, which is what makes retirement so daunting. We spend years—decades—devotingour life to one goal, and when that’s no longer the reason to get out of bed every day… What next?

Some guys have a second career they want to get into, others have family. Me… I’ve got nothing. I don’t mean that in a dire way, like I have nothing to live for without hockey. I just haven’t figured out what I want to do when I hang up the skates. That’s something I thought I wouldn’t need to worry about for two, maybe three years. Now, if I can’t play at the same level I have been, retirement might be around the corner, and I’m terrified.

I’m certainly not the first guy to get nervous thinking about life after hockey, but when it happens toyou, it’s easy to believe no one could possibly understand how you feel. It’s easy to believe you’re alone, and the team is skating off in the distance as the darkness closes in. Like you’re forgotten.

No.

Fuck that.

I’m not ready. I told Charlie I wanted to be in control of when and how I go out, and I do. I will be.

I’ve been a slave to my own delusions for too long. Like Justus said, change is an opportunity—at least, I think he said that—and just because things are changing doesn’t mean I have to sit back and wait for the inevitable.

With renewed determination, I pull my phone from my pocket and Google self-help books. The first one that comes up is called,Get Out of Your Own Way.

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