Page 30 of Play Along With Me
And then there was Audrey. Audrey with her awkward knock-knock joke and imaginary diabetic cat. Audrey who seemed completely out of place in the hockey world yet somehow held her own with sharp observations and self-deprecating humor.
I smile to myself, remembering her mortified expression when Kevin called her out on the cat lie. Most people would have doubled down or gotten defensive. She just owned it, rolled with it, made it into a joke at her own expense.
The highway stretches empty before me, my headlights cutting through the darkness. It's nearly 1 AM by the time I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building in Providence. The place seems especially dingy after the gleaming facilities in Boston, the luxury of Morton's, the taste of what could be my future.
Vander is still up when I get in, sprawled on our couch watching highlights of tonight's games.
"There he is," he announces as I drop my gear bag by the door. "NHL superstar returns to the humble abode."
"Backup goalie for one game," I correct him, sinking into the armchair. "Never even touched the ice."
"Still counts," he insists. "How'd it go? You were on TV, by the way. Camera panned to you on the bench during the third period. I've got it recorded."
Despite my exhaustion, I feel a small thrill at this. Tangible evidence that I was there, that it happened.
"It was... surreal," I admit. "Practice went well. Kelly seemed impressed. The game was intense—New York's got some serious firepower this year."
"Saw that Matthews goal against Buffalo last week? Top corner, bar down, ridiculous release."
I nod, grateful that Vander isn't pressing for details about my own performance or future prospects. He knows how superstitious hockey players can be, how talking too much about opportunities can feel like tempting fate.
"You look beat," he observes. "Celebratory beers tomorrow after practice?"
"Sounds good," I agree, pushing myself up from the chair. "I'm crashing. Early morning."
"Always is," he says sympathetically. "Night, Marshmallow."
"Call me that again and I'm seriously fucking hiding shrimp in your helmet."
His laugh follows me down the hallway to my bedroom.
My routine is automatic at this point—hang up the suit, set out clothes for tomorrow, check that my gear is ready for morning practice. I should be reviewing game film of our next opponent, but my brain is too fried to absorb anything useful now.
Instead, I sit on the edge of my bed and pull out my journal. The familiar black notebook falls open to today's page, where I'd written my morning affirmations:
I AM IN THE NHL.
I HAVE EARNED THIS OPPORTUNITY.
I AM READY.
For the first time in years, these statements feel less like wishful thinking and more like an imminent reality. Today I wore a Boston Saints uniform. Today I sat on an NHL bench. Today NHL coaches watched me work and nodded in approval.
I'm close. So close I can taste it.
My pen hovers over the page, ready to continue my usual post-game analysis—what went well, what needs improvement, goals for tomorrow. But instead, I find myself turning to a fresh page and writing a single word:
Audrey.
Just her name. Nothing else. I stare at it for a long moment, surprised at myself. I never mix personal thoughts with hockey thoughts in this journal. This space is sacred, dedicated to the singular pursuit that has defined my life since I was five years old.
Yet there it is. Audrey. Six letters that have nothing to do with save percentages or lateral movement or NHL contracts.
I close the journal, tucking it into my nightstand drawer. As I go through the motions of getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth and setting my alarm, my mind keeps drifting back to her.
She's funny—not in that trying-too-hard way a lot of people have, but in a natural, self-aware way that makes you want to be in on the joke. She's quick, too, keeping up with the banter at dinner even when the conversation veered into hockey territory she clearly knew nothing about.
And there's something refreshing about her lack of pretense. She admitted to checking me out, then smoothly pivoted to a surprisingly insightful assessment of my character. Most people I meet either tell me what they think I want to hear or focus entirely on the physical aspects of being a professional athlete. Audrey seemed to see beyond both.
