Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Zaan
Being away from Lexi after our argument is killing me.
I’m trying to focus on hockey, winning this series, and all the things that are usually important to me. I just can’t.
And it shows because we’re losing 3-1.
We’re not doing anything wrong, per se, we’re just not showing the same fire we showed earlier in the season.
Hell, we’re not showing the same energy we had earlier in the series.
I’m distracted by personal things, so I know my head isn’t completely in the game, but why is everyone else dropping the ball?
It’s a team effort, and they should be picking up the slack for me.
Instead, we seem to be coming apart at the seams, no matter how much Coach yells or switches up the lines.
We’re all on edge, but I’m filled with pent-up frustration.
The longer we play, the more I want to hit people, and that’s not like me.
However, taking out my frustrations on the guys from the other team feels like the right thing to do tonight, and a great way to add a little grit, so I don’t hesitate to drop the gloves in the second period.
My opponent, a self-proclaimed tough guy who’s only been with Seattle one season, seems taken aback.
And that slight hesitation is all I need to take him down to the ice.
A couple of quick jabs and his helmet comes off.
Then the ref is pulling me off him, and I smirk as I skate to the penalty box.
My teammates tap their sticks on the ice as I skate past them, and I hope my sacrifice gives them a much-needed boost.
Personally, I don’t think it did much for me.
My hand hurts from hitting the side of the other guy’s helmet, we’re still losing, and now we’re down a man for two minutes.
I groan when Seattle scores, ending the period with a score of 4-1.
I figure I’m going to hear about it in the locker room.
“Dude, what was that?” Anton murmurs as we’re heading down the tunnel.
“He pissed me off,” I grunt.
“Hey, H?agen-Dazs, who pissed in your corn flakes?” Tore asks once we’re in the locker room.
I hate that nickname, and he knows it.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
“Zaan.” Coach Wylde looks less than impressed with me, and I hate being the problem child. He also rarely calls us by our first names. Which means he’s more disappointed than pissed off.
Great.
Now I feel like a kid again.
“Sorry, Coach,” I say. “Lost my temper.”
“You know better.” He gives me a pointed look, but then his gaze travels around the room.
His disappointment is palpable.
“I guess you’re all looking forward to golfing this summer, huh? Because I don’t see anyone out there who looks like they want to play hockey for another few weeks. Or who wants to win a fucking championship.”
No one says anything.
“This is it, boys. If we lose tonight—and we are fucking losing right now—it’s basically over.
Technically, with some skill and heart and determination, we could still pull this off.
But you have to want it. There’s nothing else I can say at this point.
You either want it or you don’t. And when we go back out there, you’re going to show me which one. ” He turns and walks out of the room.
Dead silence follows him.
Finally, Anton stands up.
He’s our team captain, and I can tell he’s struggling to come up with some kind of motivational speech.
I don’t envy him the job.
“I should be pissed off,” he says after a moment.
“But fuck if I know what to say. I don’t think ripping you a new one is going to work.
Not this time. The only thing that’ll work is us—every last one of us—digging deep.
We, collectively, need to figure out who we are and who we want to be. Today, tomorrow, going forward.
“We don’t need to pull a rabbit out of a hat or pray for a miracle or anything else.
We just need to play the game that we’ve been playing all season.
Leave the fights with your wives, your sick grandmothers, and the new tires you need to put on your cars.
The only thing you need to think about tonight is going out there and showing them who we are.
If we can do that, we can keep this series alive and go home for one more game. ”
“We can do this,” Tore says, standing up. “Who’s with me?”
Fuck.
I know I should stand up.
I know I should have his back.
I just can’t find any fucks to give.
“At least H?agen-Dazs took one for the team,” Anton continues.
If my pent-up frustration brings something good to the room, so be it.
“We’ve got this.” Nate Calloway, a quiet, softspoken guy who’s been on the team a long time, gets to his feet.
“Fuck yeah, we do.” Jean-Michel “Van” Vander is next. “Why the fuck are you assholes sitting down? Stand the fuck up!”
I’m the next one to stand.
Despite the distractions and worries tickling my subconscious, I really do want to be in the moment. For my team and my teammates.
“Come on, guys—if I have to start another fight I’m going to get a bad reputation,” I say, hoping to make a joke.
“And I could use a little help out there.” Simon LaCroix, our starting goalie since Karl Martensson retired last season, lumbers to his feet.
“We can do it,” Anton says firmly as everyone slowly stands. “If we believe in ourselves. I know this feels like some Hallmark Channel motivational bullshit but think about where you want to be next week: On the golf course or on the ice.”
“And I fucking hate golf.” Jamie Teller is one of our assistant coaches, and he’s been leaning against the wall this whole time, watching and waiting. For what, I’m not sure, but his comment makes us all laugh.
“Same,” I say. “And I want to tell you something.” I take a breath, hoping I’m not betraying my wife. But I need the kind of support I can only get in this room. It’s something we don’t talk about as pro athletes, but it’s understood. It’s part of us. The brotherhood of a team.
So I’m going to lean into it.
“My wife is pregnant. Because of her breast cancer battle a decade ago, there are health issues that could be tricky. Hell, we didn’t even think she could get pregnant.
So far, she’s fine, but that’s the reason we haven’t announced it.
And I’ll be honest—it’s fucking with my head.
I’m sorry if I haven’t been as present as I should have been, but it’s been really fucking hard to focus.
We haven’t told anyone because even though there haven’t been any issues, there are risks.
So if I’ve been off my game, that’s why.
It’s not an excuse, but my reality. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m just…
” I blow out a breath. Why am I telling them?
“We’ve got your back,” Anton says quietly, as if he understands that I’m struggling to articulate what I’m feeling. “Balancing what’s going on at home with what happens on the ice is the hardest thing about what we do. That’s why we’re always here for each other.”
“Congratulations,” Jamie says, coming over and shaking my hand. “I’m happy for you and Lexi. Anything you need, no matter what happens tonight, don’t hesitate to call.”
I’m suddenly surrounded by my teammates, with congratulations and well wishes, hugs and fist bumps. More than that, words of encouragement. Camaraderie. A unity that hasn’t been prevalent the last few games.
“I say we win this one for Baby H?agen-Dazs,” Tore says, grinning at me.
He knows how much I hate the nickname.
But I’m suddenly a lot less opposed to it.
Almost like it has new meaning.
“Yes!” Anton nods enthusiastically.
Then he puts out his fist.
“Who’s in? Who’s going to go out there and win this one for the newest baby in the Sidewinders family?”
“Yeah!” Every fist in the room is one on top of the other.
We can do this.
For Baby H?agen-Dazs.