Page 100 of Keeping the Score

I still have that tightness in my chest. And my head throbs.

I’ve got this.

Moments later, Columbus controls the puck.

Ouellette is right in front of me, screening me, waiting for the puck. I’m still pissed about that goal, not to mention the other ten times Ouellette slashed me and the refs ignored it, and I whack the back of his legs with my stick.

Bad idea. Baaaad idea.

Ouellette turns around and crosschecks me. “What the fuck, asshole!”

“Fuck you!” I bellow. We both throw some wild punches and I take him to the ice, going down on top of him.

Mayhem ensues. Every player and every ref on the ice gather around us. I want to punch Ouellette, but he’s down on the ice and I just can’t do it. Fuck me.

A fight breaks out between Crusher and a Columbus player, and the refs immediately step in. Other guys are paired up, shoving and dancing and chirping.

Eventually, one of the refs drags me off Ouellette. I get to my feet. My mask is off. Sweat drips into my eyes. I grab my water bottle and squirt it in my face, breathing heavily.

Dilly skates up and taps my pad with his stick. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I set my jaw.

“He’s been slashing you all night.”

“Yep.”

I have time to compose myself as the refs gather to confer on penalties. I end up with a slashing penalty and Ouellette gets two for crosschecking.

I have to be better. I need to be a machine. I can’t let my emotions get the best of me.

I see every puck clearly. I am on angle, square, with perfect depth. My hands and feet move with speed and accuracy.

We’re down by one goal. Coach pulls me near the end of the game for the extra attacker. I hustle to the bench and watch the guys control the play in the O zone.

I lean over the boards. “Come on, guys! Let’s fucking go!”

Passing, passing, passing, waiting for a lane. And then a Columbus player intercepts a pass and he’s off toward our empty net. Our guys make desperate attempts to stop him, but he shoots the puck and scores into the empty net.

I drop my head forward. Shiiiiit.

I drop onto the bench, sweaty and grouchy. Yeah, I’m definitely in Coach’s bad books as we return to the dressing room. I’m in my own bad books, for Chrissake.

30

ANDI

Oh, boy. What does it mean?

I sit for a long time at my desk with my phone in my hand, thinking about Ford’s message. Willa is back. Things will be sorted out. That’s good.

Then why do I feel so gloomy? My limbs feel heavy. I just want to go to bed.

I don’t know what Willa’s going to want now. Will she just take Tilly and disappear again?

My heart hurts for Ford if that happens. He loves his daughter and he wants to be a father to her. Willa has to recognize that.

But I don’t know her at all. She left her child with a stranger (albeit with a biological link), so I’m not convinced she has her child’s best interests in mind. Or anyone else’s for that matter. It’s admirable that she went to care for her parents, but she was gonemonths. It wasn’t fair to Ford to do that. Or to Tilly. So it won’t be a surprise if she takes Tilly and goes.

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