Page 92 of Zero Pucks Given
But now doubt was creeping in.
I didn’t want to take out my frustrations on Josie. She didn’t deserve any of this. But she had blamed me for the press conference! As if I had any control of those sorts of things. Didn’t she understand all the pressure I was under? The expectations that were on my shoulders, more than any other player on the team? That kind of pressure was crushing in the best of circumstances, let alone during a situation like this.
The last thing I needed was Josie ripping into me.
This was why I didn’t let anyone get close. It just gave people new ways to hurt me.
I was a professional athlete. I was famous. Nobody would ever see me as anormalperson.
Not even Josie.
Mason came striding out of his room, pointing at me. “I changed my mind. I want to say my piece.”
“Too late,” I growled.
“No!” he snapped, more forcefully than I had ever seen from the rookie. “I’m going to say what I want, and you’re going to sit there and listen. You like Josie.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You like her. And she likes you. For the past week, between your fourth and fifth dates with her, you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you.”
“That had nothing to do with Josie,” I argued. “During that time period, we learned we were making the playoffs. Of course I seemed happier.”
“Bull-fucking-shit. Bro, you were happy because ofher.”
I rolled my eyes. “Stop acting like you know me.”
Mason recoiled in shock. “I’m your friend.”
“You’re my roommate. An annoying one, at that.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You push people away when things get tough. Or when they get too close. You did it to Josie, and now you’re doing it to me.”
“Rookie, you’revastlyoverestimating how much I value your presence in my life.”
Mason stared at me, then turned away. He seemed hurt, even more than Josie had. “Fine. If that’s the kind of person you want to be, thenI can’t stop you. But as someone who’s gotten to know you over the past year, I’m in a unique position to give you a warning: this isn’t going to stop just because you pushed her away. You might think it’s behind you now, but I know it’s going to eat away at you until there’s nothing left inside.”
He blinked like he was surprised he’d said all of that to me, then hastily retreated into his room.
I took another long look at my phone and decided it wouldn’t make me feel better to hurl it at his door.
We had practice the next morning. The team seemed more energized now that we were home, but there was still a certain kind of tension in the air. After that, I spent most of my free time reviewing footage from the first two games against the Oilers, searching for weaknesses.
Then it was time for game three.
The atmosphere in the Frost Bank Arena crackled with electric anticipation, the kind that settled in your chest and wouldn’t let go. Fans poured into the arena draped in Surge blue, waving towels and shouting for blood. The lights dimmed, music pounded through the speakers, and the spotlights swept across the ice as our team’s hype-up video rolled—each clip drawing louder roars from the crowd.
This felt different than the first two games in Edmonton. There was a hum of nervous energy, a collective holding of breath. Everyone knew the stakes were higher, that the hits would be harder. This was our chance to regain our lead in the series after a catastrophic game two.
It was more than a game. It was a battlefield, the arena trembling like an earthquake before the puck was even dropped.
All of this energy honed my focus, making me feel more like myself again. I was ready to lead my team to a victory.
As we waited for the puck to drop, I found my eyes scanning the crowd. Searching forher.
I rapped my knuckles on the side of my helmet to knock myself out of it. No more distractions. Just hockey. The only thing that mattered in the world was this game, and the one after it.
But deep down, as the game began, I knew I was only lying to myself.
