Chapter 10 Tytus
Chapter ten
Tytus
“All right, Tremblay. That’s what I’m talking about.”
I soar past Coach Connors, barely registering the praise.
We’re running a Honey Hole drill that strains every fatigued muscle in my body. I’m physically spent, but mentally, I’m soaring. I should be starting to feel the haze of exhaustion sink into my bones, but with each explosive jump into the open space near the net, I feel more alive.
As I skate behind the net to reset, Jet nods and takes a swig from his water bottle. “Beast mode activated, eh, Tremblay?”
Understatement of the fucking year.
I’m unstoppable today. Impenetrable. A fucking force to be reckoned with.
I’m in a place that’s hard to manufacture. This headspace is what every athlete dreams of. I haven’t actually slept since Friday night, but in this moment, I’m ready to fucking go.
The only things that have changed since the last time I was in this arena are a single declaration and the new title I bestowed on Sawyer.
My wife.
Each time my blades slice over the ice, I hear it.
Left, right. Left, right.
My wife. My wife.
She’s the fuel and the fire and the source of everything good.
I set up again, gripping my stick and sinking deeper into my stance, my body whirring with kinetic energy.
It’s as if my blood has been replaced with rocket fuel. I want to move. I want to score. I want to fucking win.
The anxiety that’s been a constant companion for as long as I can remember is quiet. My usual hypervigilance has been tempered.
Never have I felt this connected to my stick, to the puck, to the ice, to this game.
With every push forward, those two magic words play in my mind.
My wife. My wife. My wife.
I’m focused and locked in.
There isn’t a cell in my body that’s not humming in anticipation.
As I continue through the movements, wave after wave of calmness washes over me. Soothes me. Provides a kind of hope I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.
My wife.
My wife.
My wife.
I can’t wait to see her tonight.
I can’t wait to finally make her mine.