Page 62 of Love of the Game
Once I could drive again, I went to as many Otter games as I could manage—I was still the captain and owed it to the team to be there. Plus, it was good to be around the guys, even if they did give me shit about running off to be a hockey husband.
“You gonna dye your hair blond? Brodie asked.
I rolled my eyes and shoved him. “Not every hockey partner is blonde,” I said. “Oliver, for instance,” I said pointedly. “And the brunet mafia would have my head if I did, anyway.”
He cackled.
The Otters were heading to the PHL playoffs. The Lions were heading to the NAPH ones, and I was torn about this turn of events. I was happy for both teams, but I wanted to be in both places—watch both sets of games.
Of course, I chose the Otters. They’d ended up giving Alfie an A, which he admitted to me left him breathless at first, being a rookie and all, but he did well with it. He’d always been a good voice in the locker room.
The Otter games were exciting and intense, and it fucking hurt to watch them from the media box. I helped out where I could, adding my suggestions and observations to the coaches after each game.
But honestly, I didn’t need to. They were playing well. So well, that they made it into the semi-final round of the playoffs before finally losing a series.
Sucked, but man, what a run. Next year would be even better, I thought.
Because of my rehab, I couldn’t make any of the Otter road trip games, so I did end up watching a few of the Lions playoff games with the other partners and spouses. Unfortunately, the Lions had drawn New York for their first round and while they’d played hard and pushed the series to seven games, they’d fallen in the end. Still, that had been the Lions first trip to the Cup playoffs in a while and Drake’s first ever. A good learning experience, everyone said.
Drake wanted more. “Next year,” he said, eyes blazing with passion the night after that final loss. “I want to be in the final nextyear.”
Pretty sure he’d will the Lions there, given the fire in him. He’d been instrumental in getting the Lions into the playoffs in the first place. In the end, he’d scored seven playoff goals.
I was also damn sure the only time Drake would ever be in an Otters uniform again would be if—God forbid— he required a conditioning stint. He was well beyond his slump now.
Not sure if it was the Lions or Drake’s mother, but that jerkface of a bio dad of his didn’t show his electronic face for the rest of the season, not since the birthday message. When Drake had finally told his mom about that incident, she’d been fuming. But that seemed settled, now. I hoped.
Me? Well, I was in the thick of rehab now, working on strengthening my right arm and all those damn muscles in the shoulder. I was also working out the rest of my body, to try to keep it in somewhat decent condition so I wouldn’t be a complete disaster when I hit the ice in gear again.
I was skating, but not anything close to the intensity of hockey. That would come in late summer. Maybe. If the doctors deemed my shoulder good enough.
After both teams’ playoff hopes had been dashed, Drake and I did travel to Vancouver to spend some time with my parents and sister, and then flew to Philly to spend time with Drake’s mom, too.
In the Philly suburbs, after a round of working out with a trainer some of the local NAPHers used, I think Drake caught on that I wasn’t exactly my normal upbeat self when we returned to his mom’s house. He drew me into the guest room we were occupying. “You all right with being here with my mom?” He had that look of worry he got whenever he was thinking through the worst possible scenario.
I took both of his hands in mine. “I love being here withyour mom. She’s a wonderful person, and I can see exactly where your strength comes from.”
“But...” he said.
“No buts,” I said. “None at all.”
Ah, there was the skepticism I knew well. “You’re not yourself.”
I heaved a sigh. “I know. I’m thinking too much. It happens.”
“About me?”
I shook my head. “I love you. I want to be with you, and nothing in the world is going to change that. It’s—” I gestured to my arm. “It still hurts, Drake. Deep inside. The doctors say it’s fine. I’m recovering as planned, but…”
“There’s thebut,” he said, and drew me into his arms. “Whatever happens, you’ll be fine.”
An echo of my father’s words. “I know,” I said. “I don’t like not knowing what ‘be fine’ is, though. It’s…” I opened up space, sat on the bed, and looked up at him. “You know in a game, you can see a couple plays ahead? Well, there’s too many plays, and I don’t know what route I should take, where I should be, who to pass to. It’s all hazy. I know in the end I’ll be all right, but don’t know what that means or how to get there.”
Drake took this in, then sat next to me on the bed. “We’re in this together, okay? Whatever you decide, whatever you need, I’ll support it.” He paused. “You told me that it would all work out as it should if I trusted myself and remembered who I was. I know you’ll find the right path—you’ve done that your entire life. I believe in you.”
I didn’t say anything, not because there weren’t words, but because there were too many and I couldn’t squeeze them out. So I pulled Drake into my arms and held him and let my fear of not knowing go.
Three words did work their way out of my tangled head eventually. Ones that were true, ones that wouldn’t change. “I love you.”
