21. Where’s Your Head At?
21
WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?
SETH
The clock is ticking down on the first game of the season and the adrenaline running through my veins is a welcome feeling. We’re fortunate that our first game is at home, and the crowd noise has grown from nervous to ecstatic, screaming with each goal we score.
The team is a mix of returning players and a few new ones gained in trades or graduating from the minors. It’s difficult not to think’s about the friends that moved on in the off-season. It was sad to see them leave, but I know management has built our roster into a strong contender with high expectations.
Linc and I are on the first line, and I flick the puck towards him while I fly down the ice, narrowly avoiding the shoulder of Denver’s massive defenceman, David Elders. Elders lacks my speed but makes up for it with strength, hockey sense, and a willingness to bend the rules.
We’ve had beef over the years, and he’s been doing his best to bash into me every time we’re on the ice together, but I just flash him a cocky grin and cut around him while Linc slaps the puck into the empty net. Denver had pulled their goalie two minutes ago in a last-ditch effort to claw their way back.
The crowd goes wild and Linc throws his hands up while I barrel into him. We’re now up four to two, with only thirty seconds left on the clock, so we celebrate on the bench while the second line kills the remaining time.
Once the final buzzer goes off, the crowd erupts and I grin, relieved that we were able to give the fans what they demanded.
The Denver players file off the ice with their heads bowed while we celebrate. This is exactly what we needed to start the season. A fresh start to wash away the sour ending to last season.
I grab the team flag and pass it to Jenson, our newest rookie left-winger, letting him take it for a spin around the ice. Linc had two goals and an assist, so he’s named first star, and he hands a signed stick to the young kid standing on the carpet that’s replaced the net.
“Way to go, buddy.” I slap him on the back when he passes me on the way into the locker room, and the rest of the team lets out a cheer for him.
I’m stuck on media detail, so I have to front the cameras before I can head inside, telling the reporters how happy we are with our efforts on the ice and what a great start it is for the season.
One regular, Alana something, pipes up. “It’s good to see you’re not letting last season’s devastating loss get to you too much. Where’s your head at?”
I really hate these sorts of questions, but I’ve had plenty of media training, and I give the usual bland response. “We’re focusing on the new season and are confident we’ll be back in the playoffs this year.”
I finally join the rest of the team, and after Coach gives his “well done” speech, everyone makes quick work of showering and getting dressed in their suits, each with a beer in hand.
We’ve got the usual family dinner afterwards, and I can’t help but feel envious when I watch most of my teammates celebrate with their loved ones while we eat. I’ve been so busy the last few weeks that I haven’t thought about Kylie as much. But she’s never far from my mind, and I wonder what it would be like if she was here. Would she get along with the other partners? I know a few would be welcoming, but some of them can be pretty cliquey as well, something I notice more now that there is someone I wish was here with me.
I lean against the bar, nursing my second (and last) beer for the night, while Linc chats with Jenson beside me. I watch Dean flirting with a few of the women that have joined us and notice a couple of them looking in our direction. It’s no secret that only a few of us are single, and each season we spend half of our time dodging the professional husband chasers, looking to lock down a high-paid NHL player. Dean finds it amusing and uses it to his advantage, but Linc and I both avoid these women at all costs.
Two of our newest players, Russian defenceman Pieter Volkov and Finnish right-winger Timo Hakala, saunter over to the group, and I breathe a sigh of relief when they divert the attention of the blonde who had been looking like she was about to head my way.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I say, tapping my beer bottle to Linc’s before draining the last of it.
“You don’t want to come out?” he asks, looking surprised.
“Nah, I’m beat. You guys have a good night, though.”
He eyes me warily before nodding slowly. I’ve done all the socialising I can handle and just want to go home to my book and get a good sleep.
When I hop in the car out the front and give the driver my address, I sit back and scroll through the few photos from the trip that I took, stopping on the last one. I’d snapped a photo of Kylie outside the Tower of London while she’d been smiling at something I’d said. It was just after the one - and only - selfie I took with her.
It’s been weeks since I last saw Kylie, yet the memory of her still hasn’t faded. How is it possible to be hung up on someone I’d only known for three weeks? I guess because, for the first time in my adult life, I’d finally met someone that I didn’t have to wonder if they were only interested in me because of what I do for a living.
I wish we’d exchanged numbers, something I’ve been cursing myself about. I miss talking to her. Even if it would have just been a brief text asking how her day was going, it would have been better than the complete silence now. Is she missing me too? She probably has a line of men vying for her attention now that she’s back home. Women who are so outgoing and beautiful rarely stay single for long.
I stare out the window, watching the streets of downtown Calgary flash by. It’s starting to get colder now, and we’ve had snow in the past week. Remembering that day in Switzerland, I allow myself to imagine Kylie sitting beside me, admiring the winter wonderland outside. Spending time with her and Tara has given me a new appreciation for the beauty of winter in Canada. As it’s only fall, I’m sure I’ll be over it in a few weeks once it’s constantly snowing, but for now, it’s a novelty once again.
The next morning, my phone rings during my workout, and I smile when I see “Dad” lighting up on the screen.
“Hey Dad,” I say, pausing the treadmill and grabbing a drink from my water bottle.
“Hey bud. That was a great game last night.” His voice echoes through my home gym, my phone connected to the bluetooth speaker.
“Thanks. It was definitely good to start the season with a win.”
“Still can’t believe I have to cheer for the Mounties,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes. “Sorry, old man. It’s not likely to change anytime soon either.”
Dad mutters something that sounds distinctly like “for now” before continuing to speak. “Your mother and I have got season tickets again, so we will be at the game when you play in Vancouver in a few months.”
A devoted Vancouver fan, he has long lamented that he has had to cheer for Boston, then Calgary when I play. It’s especially difficult for him when we play Vancouver, his loyalties torn.
It’s rare for me to put my own needs first with anyone, but every time he’s pushed for me to get my agent to talk to Vancouver’s management, I’ve shut him down. The Mounties are my team, and I plan on being with them until retirement, if I can. While there’s always a chance I could be traded, I’m pretty confident that I’ll be staying put.
We discuss last night’s game in detail while I start my weights routine.
“Your mother wants to know who the woman is in all those photos from your trip, by the way.”
I pause, holding the dumbbell in my right hand to my chest. “How did Mom see photos?”
“She follows Lincoln online. He shared all the photos on his personal account.”
Of course he did. He had been snapping away constantly, while I was lucky to take ten photos across the entire trip. I definitely posed for a lot, though, between him and the girls.
“Ah, okay.”
“So,” Dad prompts. “Who is she?”
“So what you’re really saying is you want to know who the woman in the photos was.” I shake my head, realising I better check these photos out myself.
“Correct.” At least he knows he’s a gossip.
“She was another person on the tour with us. She and her friend are Australian, and the four of us spent our time together on the trip.”
“Well, you both looked very cosy together.”
Yep, definitely need to see these photos.
“Yes, I’m sure we did. But there’s nothing to report.” As close as I am to my parents, I draw the line at sharing information about the women who have been in my life.
“Well, that’s a shame. She is very attractive.”
Refusing to take the bait that my father is dangling, I shift the conversation to less dangerous ground.
It’s not until after we hang up I allow myself to think about what it would be like to introduce Kylie to my parents. And realise I’ve never considered that with any other women I’ve been with since I moved out of home.