Page 99 of Keeping the Score

I heard from Willa. She’s back.

ANDI

Oh.

FORD

I’ll get this all sorted when I’m home. Finally.

ANDI

Okay.

The little dots jump around as she types, then stop. Then start again, then stop. And I don’t hear from her again.

The other night, when we decorated the tree, it felt so normal and comfortable and… like we were a family. And then she left, and went home to sleep in her own bed.

She probably knows that Willa won’t be gone much longer. She’s probably eager to get back to her normal life. I don’t blame her.

I exhale sharply. It’s time to go to the arena.

This is a test of my self-discipline.Discipline is the bridge between goals and success. I do all my usual routines. I’ve got this.

But on the ice, when play is up at the other end, instead of thinking about sharks, I’m thinking about Willa. And Tilly. And Andi.

My chest is tight and I have a faint headache. After a whistle, I squeeze water over my head and give it a shake to try to regain focus.

It’s so fucking frustrating that I don’t know what’s going on. I feel like my life is out of my control, and that’s one of my worst fears.

Or… is it? It used to be. But now… when I think of losing Tilly and Andi, I think that might have changed. Control and rules are great. I love ’em. But Tilly is teaching me that I’m not always going to have control of her, even at this age. And I might be okay with that. Or learning to be okay with that.

I always told myself I don’t need anyone else. People pushed me around as a kid. Fine. Who needs them? Even playing hockey—yeah, it’s a team sport, but I’m on my own here in the net.

Except when I think of my life going back to the way it was before—which, honestly, was all I wanted for a while after Tilly arrived—it makes me want to vomit. It seems bleak. Empty. Lonely.

Maybe… now my biggest fear is losing them.

With the score tied one all, I’m suddenly aware of a two-on-one happening in front of me, with two Columbus players coming in on net and only Crusher trying to stop them. Hakim is desperately trying to catch up. Columbus winger Heinonen is a right-handed shooter and he’s coming up on the left. He’s dangerous. Crusher comes in on the strong side post, trying to stop him from cutting to the middle. He’s got his stick out to take away the pass to the other winger, which I would have a hard time stopping. But it’s also harder for that winger to shoot from his backhand.

I take all this in in seconds. I know the decision Crusher made on how to play this, but there’s risk and reward to any decision. And I’m still trying to figure out how this happened.

Heinonen passes it. I slide to my left. But in a lightning-fast move, the winger passes it back to Heinonen. I move again but Crusher has not only failed to stop the pass, he’s failed to stop Heinonen from cutting to the middle and shooting. I throw out my glove hand and spread my legs, but not fast enough. And he scores.

“Fuck!” I’m spreadeagled on the ice while Columbus celebrates around me.

I get up and hurl my stick across the ice.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s not Crusher’s fault he was left all alone. My job is to stop the puck. And I didn’t do it.

And it was a tied fucking game! Jesus!

I’m fucking pissed. And not just at myself. One of their other players, Ouellette, was pulling shit earlier, in a scrum in front of my net he fucking chopped my stick out of my hands. I got it back and the play moved away but he can’t fucking do that.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It doesn’t matter what just happened, I have to be ready for the next time. Not fucking head tripping about what my life will be like without Tilly and Andi.

I’m a professional. I have to do this.

I fish the puck out of the net and shoot it toward the linesman. Then I go for a bit of a skate, centering myself. I’ve got this.

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