Page 7 of Retaking the Shot
I slid my phone into my pocket and then grabbed my things and headed to practice.
Usually,I loved the feeling of the ice beneath my skates. Practice always had a way of temporarily blocking out the chaos of the outside world, but today was different because my personal life had barged onto the ice with me.
As the captain of the team, I typically set the tempo, but my rhythm was off. My movements lacked their usual grace, my shots missed their mark, and the puck seemed to mock my every attempt to score.
Butcher skated up beside me. “Coop, everything all right?”
I mustered a smile the best I could. “Just a rough night after the game last night. Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, well, maybe you need to get laid or something.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Getting laid was the last thing on my mind.
Sexton skated over and joined the conversation. “You’re usually killing it, Coop. What’s going on?”
I sighed, deciding to let them in. “Some personal stuff, guys. Just had a long night.”
Nyström chimed in as he and Orlov joined us. “We’re a team, Coop. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
A grateful smile tugged at my lips.
“Maybe taking a break would help, Captain,” Orlov suggested. “We can handle the rest of the practice. You’ve always had our backs; let us have yours for a change.”
I nodded and skated to watch from the boards.
My teammates rallied together, and practice continued without me. It was a strange feeling to relinquish control, but I found a sense of relief knowing that in my toughest times, they had stepped up without prying.
But as practice went on, I realized I needed to immerse myself in the game that I loved and use it as a distraction. It was the only way I could escape the thoughts of Ford, so I took the ice again and lost myself in play after play.
Once our drills wrapped up, the team skated off the ice, our faces red from the exertion. The locker room door swung open, and we filed in, the familiar scent of sweat and equipment filling the air. I thought I was hiding that my mind was a mess, but it must have been written across my face still, because Butcher was the first to speak, his concern clear.
“Coop, seriously, if there’s anything you need to talk about, we’re here.”
I nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Thanks, Butch. Just dealing with some personal stuff. I’ll get through it.”
Sexton, Nyström, and Orlov echoed their support, offering words of encouragement as they tore off their gear. It felt good to have my teammates looking out for me.
Once we were all dressed, Butcher suggested, “How about we grab some lunch and maybe a drink? My treat.”
The chance to unwind and shift the focus away from my troubles sounded appealing. We agreed, and the team headed to our haunt of choice, The Whispering Flask.
Over lobster rolls and Guinness, my mood changed. Jokes and laughter flowed, momentarily pushing aside the shadows that lingered in my mind, and I briefly wondered how they’d react if I told them I was gay? Would it change things between us? Or would they not even bat an eye because, in the grand scheme of things, my sexuality didn’t affect them? I had been friends with them for a few years. That had to mean something, right? Hell, we even went on vacations together. Had Friendsgiving with each other each year.
These guys were more than teammates; they were my friends and as we laughed together like we did most times we were together, the weight on my shoulders began to lift.
Butcher leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “All right, guys, here’s one for you. Why don’t hockey players make good criminals?”
We exchanged puzzled glances as Butcher paused for effect, letting the anticipation build.
“Because they always get caught in a penalty box!” He burst into laughter, slapping the table with his hand.
We erupted in a mix of laughter and groans. Sexton just shook his head. “Butch, that’s so bad it’s good. Or maybe it’s just bad.”
Butcher chuckled, unfazed by the critique. “Hey, you can’t deny it got a laugh out of Coop. And that’s all that matters, right?”
