Page 94 of One Shot

Today is the day the Wyverns retire number 88. I’ve never been nervous to speak in front of people. Usually, I am damn good at it. Today’s different. It’s important to Laur, to her family, to the team, and to this community. I can’t mess this up. Laur’s asked me about twenty times today what I am going to say. All I’ve told her is that I am going to talk about a story I left out in the interview I did with her back before the season started—the one story I purposely left out.

I put on my special edition Bellinger Wyverns jersey. This one has Nick’s number on it. The whole team will be wearing them, and we are raffling some of them off too.

A few hours later, Coach is wrapping up his short intro, and it’s time for my speech. I walk out to the podium on the ice and clear my throat.

“Nick Bellinger was more than just a hockey player. He was a son, a brother, a friend to so many. To me, he was a friend and great mentor. We all know Nick Bellinger was a legendary player on the West Michigan Wyverns. He would have made it to the NHL. He would have broken countless records. We all know that . . .

But not everyone knows what an incredible person Nick was. He was always lifting up anyone around him, supporting them, and just being a genuine guy.He loved hockey, but he loved helping other people find that same love for hockey even more.

I remember my freshman year meeting Nick Bellinger for the first time. Really met him, not just a ‘hi’ in passing. We were about five games into the season. I wasn’t even really playing with Nick a lot yet. He asked me to stay back after practice when all the guys were going into the locker room. I was racking my brain trying to figure out what the hell I’d done or why he singled me out.

Once everyone was gone Nick said, ‘I can improve your game. Skate a little and shoot. Slapshot. Let’s go.'

That’s literally all he said. I remember laughing at him and saying something like, ‘bro are you kidding me.’ I hadn’t managed to score with a slapshot while playing in college yet. I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself in front of this guy who every single player on the team worshiped. But he was persistent. He told me again he thought he could improve my game.

So . . . I shot.

And missed.

I knew I would.

But Nick told me to do it again.

'Dude, no way, I missed.'

I didn’t want to embarrass myself further. He just looked at me. You don’t say no to Nick Bellinger.

Round two. I missed it again, of course.

Nick came over to me and said he was going to make some tweaks. He told me to loosen my grip, showed me what stance to take, pulled my shoulder back and in or something very specific that I can’t describe. I felt so weird. I would never stand or shoot like that.

‘Now try,’ Nick said.

I laughed and fell out of my position. He just looked at me, as if he was asking me what I was waiting for.

I readjusted the best I could. Nick looked at my positioning, adjusted my shoulders slightly, then nodded, seemingly to confirm that I was exactly how he had adjusted me a minute earlier. His hand was over his mouth, and he looked incredibly serious.

I didn’t even skate this time. I just took the shot right where I was standing. It hit the goal post.

Nick smiled and patted me on the back.

‘I’m going to be the next Wayne Gretzky. But you,Lucas Donato, are going to be the next Nick Bellinger. All it takes is one shot, bro. Keep taking that one shot.’

He walked off the ice.

Next game, I scored the winning goal.

Thinking about what Nick said to me that day: that I could be the next Nick Bellinger. No one will measure up to that—his loyalty, his passion and positivity, his potential, his sportsmanship, his desire to help everyone who shared his love of hockey. Nick Bellinger is already one of the greats.

It’s my honor to share this story on the day we retire the first jersey in West Michigan history. Wyverns’ number 88 will always be for you, Nick Bellinger, the great hockey player, the incredible mentor, and the legend we all aspire to be like everytime we're on this ice.”

My eyes follow Nick’s jersey as it ascends into the rafters. I whisper to myself, “We miss you, buddy. I really do aspire to be like you more and more each day, Bellinger—on and off the ice. Thank you for giving me one shot, Nick.”

As soon as I’m off the rink, a body slams into me and arms are around me. It’s Lauren. She has tears streaming down her face.

“Thank you for waiting to tell me that story.”

Then in front of the team, her parents, and all of the people who came to watch the game, she kisses me.

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