Page 9 of Unrivaled Love
“And he’s in a team-issued polo.” Crosby points out.
“He’s almost a shadow of himself. Does he have a boring twin we don’t know about?” Duncan asks.
“No. I don’t.” I tell them.
“You okay, Boba Tea?” Duncan asks. I swallow theI’m fineautomatic response. These clowns will make it a big deal to uncover exactly how not fine I am and I don’t have the time to dig through it right now.
“I dunno.” I settle on instead.
“You’ve been weird for a while now.” Crosby says quietly as we start to line up. “Like, you didn’t dance at Johnny and Caroline’s wedding last weekend.”
“Ohmygod, you didn’t!” Duncan adds as he realizes I spent the night at the table nursing a whiskey.
Normally, yeah, I’m the guy loving the club vibe or leading theCha Cha Slideat the wedding. But last weekend I couldn’t muster the energy. Mylegs felt heavy and twitchy. The music only sounded loud in my ears instead of inspiring my pulse to match it.
Then I had my family, and The Hamiltons, in town for Jo’s game. They rented a house together and I visited as often as my schedule would allow, hoping to catch Jo. Yet, she was never there. She didn’t join the family for drinks after the game either. I had to leave before they went out to dinner. Her sister, Al, made it seem like Jo was going to join them there.
Thankfully Al still talks to me, at least occasionally. Her placating smile stung a bit last night but I tried to shake it off. She’s the closest thing to a connection to Jo I can get since she cracked the impassable crevasse into our friendship.
It feels like we are on two different icebergs, passing each other slowly in the sea. Coming close but never colliding again after we first broke apart.
I zone out as Coach Bradford speaks and introduces our captain, Felix Fornier. My eyes glaze over as I stare out at the crowd of fans. It was a little weird to have both families together in D.C. but it also felt right. Normal. They razzed me a bit as people leaving Jo’s game asked for pictures and autographs. I take the time to be with fans but it is also draining. Drinks after the game was easier, it was just the family.
I breathe into that feeling of comfort and everything around me fades out to a faint buzz of sound and wash of color until Crosby elbows me in the side.
“Ow.” I grumble as I rub the sore spot.
“Pay attention.” He says with a nod towards Felix’s spot at the podium.
"We decided to give Young Gun a break from the public appearances so he's off galavanting in Europe. That means we don't have the game winning goalie here with us today. You'll have to settle for the Renegade who got the most goals in our run for The Cup, earning him the Conn Smythe Trophy as playoffs MVP, put your hands together for Bryson Svoboda!"
I silently thank Crosby for making sure I was dialed in. I step forward as Felix's joke about settling for me lands and I pretend to play wounded. The crowd eats it up and so I clutch my chest and stumble backwards before walking up to join him at the mic.
After playing for an extra two and half months in the playoffs, when we won, I figured we'd get some time off. Instead, it's been one team appearance after another.
The season is physically demanding between near daily practices, three games a week, taking hits on the ice, training, and travel. This off-season has been draining mentally.
Some appearances have been fun, like the soccer game. Some have been rewarding like the hospital ward sleep-under last night where we all donned team jammies, handed them out to the kids, and dimmed the lights for movie night.
Others, like today's Fan Zone rally, feel like pure noise.
"Thank you Cap," I clap Felix on the shoulder and pull up to the podium. "How we feeling Renegade Nation?"
I smile and clap along with the crowd. A commemorative statue is being unveiled today outside the Koffee Center, the arena where we play. It’s a bronze rendering of the team on the ice with The Cup. It’s that weird style where our smiles are open mouthed but there isn’t any detail in the teeth and I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to make teeth look real in these things.
My eyes scan the group gathered. Normally, I love crowds. Both under the bright lights on the rink for 60 minutes every game and at events like this. Even clubs and bars. The energy of a group of people fuels me. I can feel it in my bones.
But right now, when I should be reveling in the crowd’s attention, I'm fighting to keep my jaw from clenching up. What is wrong with me? Myheart is picking up speed, not in a good way, and as I scan the crowd of faces craning to see mine I feel empty.
"We fought hard for the Cup this year!" I push the words past my dry mouth and cheers erupt louder, if that is even possible. My ears start ringing but I force myself to stay in my goofball persona. The one I developed as a kid to mask my insecurity of always being the smallest on the team. I've worked to be as fast, if not faster, than guys with longer legs. I've spent thousands of hours honing my stick handling skills to be one of the best. But there are still plenty of jokes to go around about the short guy so I deflect before they get a chance. "Who's ready for another one?"
Roars hit my ears in a painful onslaught and my chest feels like a hippopotamus is sitting on me. The air becomes thick around me. Fuck, we have to start over and do it all again.
The reality of it hitting me like a train.
"We're going to put in the work," I promise as I swing my shaking arm out to indicate my teammates standing on the small stage behind me. My mind races with the challenges ahead of me to get to this moment again. Because that’s the point of the game isn’t it. To win. To win everything. And to keep winning.
My head swims. I haven’t had to force smiles or excitement like this ever before.
