Epilogue
Magnus
I’m never wearing this sweater again. It’s hot, especially in a crowded restaurant. But I had no other choice, because the hotel laundry service is unpredictable, and I still don’t have many clothes.
I needed something appropriate for my coach’s engagement party. So when my laundry didn’t make it back in time, I had to rush to a department store, pick up a dress shirt I didn’t have time to iron, and also get a sweater I could wear over the shirt so no one could see how wrinkled it is.
Hotel life is getting old. I’m on the road or at the arena a lot, but it would be nice to have a couch to sit on when I’m home. A way to make protein shakes that doesn’t include washing my blender in a bathroom sink would be good, too.
The ice machine next to my room wakes me up when it cycles on in the middle of the night, and since the windows don’t open, the room always smells like a hockey bag.
It would be nice to come home from a grueling game or road trip and have someone ask me how it went. But no—I’m greeted by the stench of fermented BO. Wet leather, plastic, rubber, and old sweat melded into the funk of a thousand hockey games.
I can’t risk an apartment lease or home purchase, though.
Things are going well so far in Cleveland, but I’m still not sure my shoulder is at a hundred percent.
And even if it is, this game I love with my entire soul is fickle.
I could get traded at any moment, and I don’t want to be stuck with a mortgage and a house full of furniture if I do.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” my teammate Isaac asks, passing me a fresh bottle of beer.
“Not bad. You?”
He glances at Coach Turner and Jules, who are dancing, completely wrapped up in their own world.
“I’m fantastic.” He glances from side to side, making sure no one’s close enough to overhear. “Hey, I met this chick on Tinder who wants two guys at once. You up for that?”
I hum with amusement. “I don’t know, man. You’re a team player on the ice, but outside that, you’re a glory hog.”
He grins. “Three holes, bro, plenty for both of us. And we could even add another guy if we really wanted to blow her mind.”
“Ask Anson. He’ll do it.”
He shrugs. “I thought of you first. New in town, needing to make new friends...”
“Really? Are you friends with the women you hook up with?”
“I’d say we’re friendly. Maybe not friends, per se...”
I consciously decided when I made the Crush roster that I’m not making any close friends. Hockey is a brotherhood, and I’d do anything for one of my teammates if they needed it, but I need to keep my distance.
After a decade of playing in Europe, I didn’t have close ties there anymore that kept me from the North American league. I thought I’d made it when I got to Tampa. Bought a house, hung out with my teammates all the time, and then I got injured.
I spiraled. The team management didn’t think I’d be able to make it back to my former level of play at my age, so I got cut.
I went from having a family and friends in Sweden, to having friends who were like family in Tampa, to nothing. My teammates kept in touch, but with them so busy playing hockey, it dwindled to the occasional text.
The thirteen months I spent rehabbing were dark. I was alone most of the time, and no one could promise me I’d be as good as I was before the injury. I moved to Minneapolis so I could work with a team of experts in rehabbing hockey injuries.
Grinding twelve hours a day on every type of rehab I could do, plus keeping myself in shape. It drained me in every way—physically, mentally, and financially.
Though I made great money in Europe, I needed that money to support my family. I still send money back home, so I’m careful with what I have. I can’t carelessly drop big money on cars and homes like other players, because there’s no guarantee I’ll still be making this money in a year.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell Isaac, just to get him off my back.
I’ve had buddies who like multiple sex partners at once. But sharing women with my teammates is the opposite of keeping them at arm’s length. Isaac’s just bitter over finding out the woman he was after—Jules—has secretly been with Coach Turner for months. He thinks he can fuck the hurt away.
I’m more of a one-woman man. Not that I’ve been with a woman in a long time. Just staying at the level I need to be at in hockey takes everything I’ve got.
Maybe a few years down the road, when I retire, I’ll want a woman in my life. When I have a place to bring her that doesn’t smell like a locker room and a landfill had a baby, and the time to invest in someone other than myself.
That’s a long way away, though. Until then, I only have enough headspace for hockey.