Page 54 of Keeping the Score

I do a sprint around our end of the ice with the guys to warm up, do more stretches, then get into net and face the shots from my teammates. The other guys all seem pretty fired up tonight, flying around the ice, shooting the pucks hard at the net. All their energy just makes me feel wearier. I challenge myself by doing some jumps on the ice, as high as I can, and more hand-eye movements.

As I leave the ice, I flip a puck over the glass for a kid with a sign that says “MY FIRST STORM GAME”.He’s ecstatic and jumps to catch it, but a man behind him grabs it in the air. I hope that’s the kid’s dad. I watch to see if he hands the puck to the kid… but he doesn’t.

“Hey!” I glare at the guy. “That puck was for him!” I point at the kid who’s now almost in tears. “Give him the puck!”

“I caught it,” the guy says.

“I’ll come up there and get it,” I shout at him, starting toward the door.

He recoils and leans over to give the kid the puck.

“Good man.” I knock the glass and give the boy a chin lift and a smile. He’s happy again. “What an asshole,” I mutter as I skate off.

“Who’s an asshole?” Smitty asks.

We tromp down the tunnel. I tell him what just happened.

“Jesus. People suck.”

Now I’m irritated. Not a good way to start the game. I throw myself down in front of my cubby and scowl at the team logo on the carpet. Apparently, my glare is enough to keep everyone away.

I let my eyes go unfocused and pay attention to my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I acknowledge the things that pass through my head—that guy was an asshole; I’m so damn tired; what am Igoing to do about Tilly; and why do I keep thinking about Andi?—trying not to get involved with the thoughts. Trying to let them go. Let my mind be free. Eventually I let myself be aware of the hard bench I’m sitting on, my skate blades on the floor, the chatter of guys around me.

I need my sports drink. I’m into blueberry pomegranate right now.

“You okay?” Crusher asks me.

I start. “Me? Yeah. Why?”

“You’re usually more animated before a game. You seem distracted.”

I shrug.

“He is distracted,” Smitty says with a smirk. “You met his neighbor, didn’t you?”

I level an icy glare on Smitty. “This isn’t about her.”Not totally.

“Sure,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” Crusher says. “The neighbor is smokin’ hot.”

Yeah. She is. And I’m fucking desperate for sex. But I only want it with her. Jesus.

“Is Tilly okay?” Benny asks.

“She’s fine.” I guzzle my drink. “Growing.”

“Good. Any word from her mom?”

“No. Last I heard, her parents aren’t doing well.”

“You got this, man.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” I give him an incredulous look, like,is there any doubt?

I’ve got this.

Back out on the ice, I do the routine I do before every period—a figure eight in the crease, then a turn into a crouch, a few fast side-to-side moves, then I drop into a squat and jump straight up to standing. I tap my pads, right, then left, then tap eachgoalpost, right then left. I turn and bump my forehead against the crossbar.

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