Page 153 of Jaded

Olli

Themusic—“WhatItTakes”by Adelita’s Way—sets the rhythm to my vinyasa flow. It’s a little faster than I might normally go, which is good. I need the tempo to pick me up, get me moving, get my head and my heart out of the spiral.

Distraction.

I need distraction.

No idea how much longer I’ve got before the rest of the team floods the locker room with their noise and energy and chatter—and I know for a fact I don’t have that in me right now.

I’d settle for just getting my thoughts out of the darkest, deepest gutter of my mind.

. . . his blatant inconsistency . . .

Breathe innnnnn . . . let the thought goooooooo . . .

. . .shockingly sub-par performance . . ..

Breathe ouuuutttt . . . let the thought gooooo . . .

. . .what’s wrong with James . . .

Breathe, Olli, breathe. Let this crap go. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fuckingmatter.

No wonder Nat doesn’t want you . . .

I kick myself up into a handstand, breathing and breathing and praying or maybe begging that those thoughts will leave me alone—

. . .what’s wrongwith James . . .

My body jerks sideways, and I crash to the ground. Tuck my head to save my neck, and the rubber flooring absorbs some of the impact, but it’s still jarring. I lie on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and let the words find me, over and over, peck at me like carrion crows over roadkill.

That’s what I feel like.

Roadkill.

Roadkill of my own thoughts. My own self-doubt.

Why did I think I could do this? Any of it? Why did I think I could show up and make something of this team and this town—when I can’t even pick myself up off the floor?

When my own career is clinging by the barest of threads, practically in ruins, and I can’t save that any more than I can save anything else.

And if I go out on that ice today, if I face the crowd, my team, Coach . . . they’ll all know. They’ll all know what a washed-up fraud I am. They’ll understand what that journalist clearly knew.

That I don’t have what it takes. Sure, I’m good. I’m really good. But I’m inconsistent as hell. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what truly matters—in a player, and especially a captain?

You want someone who’s going to be there, every single day, slogging it out and skating their all with the rest of the team. None of this half-in, half-out, who-knows-where-Olli-is bullcrap.

It’s why I’ve never stayed with a team more than a season.

Same with relationships.

It’s why I’ve never had one. Because how can I show up for someone else, when half the time I can’t even show up for myself?

When I go out on that ice in three hours, not just the team, not just my town, but the whole hockey community—thanks to Jesse and Syd—will know just what a screwup Olli James is.

I can’t do it.

I can’t show them my darkness.

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