Page 69 of My Merry Mistake
And Fritz has the puck.
Pay attention!
Fritz skates hard right, and he’s by me, open lane right to the goal. There’s a split second where I see an angle to tattoo him into the boards, so I take off. I launch, but just as I’m about to hit him, he cuts his skateshardand stops on a dime, ice spraying, and I fly right past him—shoulder first into the plexiglass.
I completely whiffed.
I turn around just in time to see him look me dead in the face, drop off a no-look pass to Gray, who skates in and one-times it in the goal. He looked at me the whole time, that chump.
The six offensive guys gather in a tight circle, whooping, while I’m sitting there in a pile.
Crosby makes a loop and stops in front of me. I see Dallas watching me from the other side of the rink. “Where’s your mind at? You let a rookie do that to you?”
I dig my stick into the ice and use it to push myself back to my feet.
“Gettin’ slow,Brookie,” Fritz says to theoohs of the rest of the guys.
“Yeah, yeah, I might be getting slow, but you’ll always be ugly,” I crack back at him. He doesn’t even respond—he just skates away to set up the next line to come in, dancing his rear end at me.
Pssh. Rookies. Grow some hair in your armpits and get back to me.
In the years since the Comets picked me up, I don’t think I’ve ever let myself get distracted out on the ice. Ever.
For a guy who doesn’t seem to care about anything, the one thing I do care about is hockey.
For starters, I never thought I’d be here. I didn’t plan on it. Being a pro hockey player was not on my Bingo card. I played in college because I loved the game—and because it was the only reason I went to school. A lot of guys entered the NHL draft, but I didn’t. I knew I wasn’t good enough. I’m not the star. I never was.
I just loved it. For me, this sport was always about hanging out with my brothers and my friends.
Most guys in the league arehockey players.
And I’m a guy who plays hockey.
My college coach talked me into going to the combine with a buddy of mine—said he could use the support. I figured if I could help him, then I should go. Never expected to be picked up. And by the Comets? Are you kidding me?
It was the GM who said he saw something in me, apparently after Burke put a bug in his ear. Said I was good for morale—a team player—and that his team needed a selfless player like me. I don’t start every game, but I train like I do. I know my role out here is to support people like Grayson Hawke and Dallas Burke.
I’m good with that, and in a lot of ways, I prefer it. I’m not about to miss a single opportunity to play with these guys.
But today? Good grief, I’m distracted. And my teammates can tell.
“Sorry, man,” I say to Crosby. “Just a little out of it today.”
And a little wrecked knowing I shouldn’t have confronted Raya yesterday because I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. That’s not going to make her feel closer to me. If anything, it’s going to annoy her, and she’s going to push me away. Which means we’ll go right back to the dumb little game we play—I’ll keep teasing her, and she’ll keep rolling her eyes, with no idea that my feelings for her are real.
I skate back into the line, and when it’s my turn to do the drill, I get a stick on a pass and break it up.
The next time though? I’m mentally listing things I could take to Raya to help her relax, and we get scored on again.
I skate off the ice, drop onto a bench, and start unlacing my skates when Dallas sits next to me. “You good?”
“Yeah, man,” I say, brighter than I feel. “All good.”
Dallas pulls a baseball cap out of his bag and sticks it on his head. “Your mind wasn’t on what was going on out there.”
I look over at him, and I know he can read on my face that he’s right.
“That was a lot yesterday.”
