Chapter 44 Game Over?
GAME OVER?
REN
Just when I think I can't feel any older, a picture of me as a baby pops up on the Jumbotron screen.
The crowd gives a collective “aww,” and my teammates immediately start razzing me on what century that picture was taken.
I suppose I should just be relieved that I'm at least wearing a diaper.
Though I'm sure Cassidy handed that picture off to the people in charge, she would've had to get it from my mother, which means she's in big trouble.
It's not every day you celebrate your birthday on the ice. Especially your 40th birthday when you’ve spent more than half your life as a professional hockey player.
I'm not allowed too much time to dwell on it when change up is called, and I hit the ice, making a sprint for center ice. All this birthday nonsense does is give new ammunition for the opposing team who are already mimicking boohooing and baby bottles.
Of course, it would help if the announcers would quit mentioning my milestone birthday. Making sure to get as many digs in as they can on how well old man Rafferty is performing, whether I make the play or not.
It's bad enough the younger players like to thumb their nose at us old timers, but even worse are the men that are close to my own age who like to pretend that they're not.
One such asshole has been riding my ass this entire game. What's funny is that I could skate circles around him on a bad day. The only thing preventing me for giving him a run for his money is the fact that it'll put us off track and Coach will murder me.
There again, I am fucking old, and I'm kind of out of fucks.
What also doesn't help is that I know one of these guys pretty well.
Adam and I played for the same team for quite a few years, but then he got himself in trouble and almost washed out completely.
When I decided to buckle down and keep my eye on the proverbial puck, he decided to fuck off and almost ended up out of the game for good.
Why he has held a grudge on me for this long is beside me. The whole idea that he can drink a bunch of poison and expect me to die is foolish, but some people never learn.
Sure enough, I catch him out of the corner of my eye barreling down on me.
I just manage to pivot out of the way, but no sooner do I circle back around than I see him coming at me again.
I attempt to stop short so he'll check himself into the boards, but one of his teammates was right on my ass and knocks me forward, so Adam collides with me, hard.
The impact takes some of the wind out of me. His teammate who got me from behind, gives me another shove and then Adam kicks my skates out from under me and I fall to the ice with Adam falling with me, sneering, "That's right old man. Fucking lie down already."
Doing my best to pretend I haven't had the wind knocked out of me, I jerk my head to the side, cracking my helmet into his sharply. He tussles with me a bit and then takes off just as Dave appears by my side.
Dave struggles to drag me up onto my skates and then Warren is there at my other side, waiting until I'm stable enough for him to skate off. Dave leans in and says, "Keep your shit together, man. You end up in the penalty box not only will that be the game for you, but you could have other penalties, too. There isn’t enough time for that shit.”
I finally manage to take a full breath and I croak, "That isn't necessarily a bad thing."
Dave gives me a knowing look and then takes off. I'm shaking my head, clearing the residual spots in my vision and then I take off after him watching our defenders go to work, anticipating the next play.
Sure enough, the puck breaks free and goes zipping up the ice, but Warren's right there, scooping it up with his stick. Dave and I both make a break for it, at a dead sprint toward the goal with Warren coming up the center, no defenders in sight.
Warren passes to Dave, who's just ahead on the left, while I stay back on the other side turning to back pedal as I watch the defenders doing their best to bum-rush Warren who’s now making a beeline for Dave.
The two of them slap the puck back and forth a couple times, but then Warren slaps it back to Dave before jacking the brakes, stepping off toward me, magically wide-open right in front of the goal.
Warren inserts himself between me and the defenders, giving me that split second opening to receive the puck so gently from Dave's stick. It floats to me on a cloud, directly into the forward momentum of my stick as I drive it toward the goal.
The horn sounds on the score; Dave, Warren, and I already skating off in different directions, fueled by the excitement of a good play but knowing it's too early for a celebration.
Crash.
Caught completely off guard, I'm jacked into the boards, my inability to brace myself taking all the wind from me. Adam’s right there, his body keeping me upright as he's pushing me into the boards he spits out, "You always were a fucking pussy."
I don't know exactly what this guy's problem is, and I'm not even too bothered that he wants to knock me around and call me silly names. I can only hope he ends up getting himself stuck in the penalty box.
I shove him away and at first, I think he's going to let up, then he's right back there, his expression ugly as he drawls, "Guess that means I'll just have to fuck your wife later."
I don't fucking think so.
I grab onto his head with both hands, yanking him forward as I spit out, "Don't ever talk about my wife."
For a brief moment I think Adam’s going to back down, and we won’t end up in a knockdown fight. But then his eyes narrow, his expression turns ugly, "Maybe if she takes it from a real man next time she won't lo—“
I head-butt him directly in the face.
He falls back slightly, and I grab into him, yanking him forward as I head-butt him again, this time making contact with his nose. Tossing my gloves to the ice, I square off, get a good grip on him, intent on making the slew of penalties I’m gonna rack up count.
I hold onto his jersey with one hand, pummeling him with the other, wanting to keep him upright as long as possible.
His helmet goes flying and then the weight of him falling pulls me down to the ice on top of him.
I go to hit him again, but he’s down for real, turning away from me, obviously attempting to escape.
Dave falls in beside me as I work to push back the white-hot fury pulsing through my veins. “Did you hear what he said?"
Dave nods. "Yeah, pissed me off we couldn’t help you kick his ass.”
I relax slightly at his words. Glance over his shoulder at where Adam is getting up from the ice. He’ll serve his penalty and then likely have to go see a medic, so I take some comfort in that.
I glance over at Coach who's standing in his normal spot, his arms crossed over his chest. But for once he doesn't look mad, he looks more vindicated.
Someone hands me my helmet and my gloves. Someone else hands me my stick and then Dave says, “Guess I’ll leave you to your punishment.”
I make a face, not at all sorry I have to miss the rest of the game because of that douche bag. I don’t even care I’m likely to get a handful of other penalties because that fucker asked for it.
I look at my teammates and say, "Kick their fucking asses," and then I turn and skate off toward the penalty box where I toss my stick and gloves on the ground and kick my helmet for good measure.
Then I sit with a huff, annoyed my hand hurts, but at least I can see Cassidy from here.
She's looking slightly perturbed, and I can only hope she never finds out what that piece of shit said to me. I’ll never understand what drives people to cruelty, how they would intentionally twist a knife in an already open wound.
I guess it's a good thing that he did it on the ice, where the only repercussion I get for kicking the shit out of him are decided by the league.
I sit back, resigned to watching the rest of the game from this stupid ass box.
They're still putting up random pictures of me as a child and still making old man jokes even though I'm not even on the ice.
I look back to Cassidy to find her watching me.
I grin, she winks, so I press my palm over my heart and then point to her.
Her smile turns salacious, and her hands come up in front of her, one of them forming that circle that has me glaring at her intentionally.
I mouth, "Stop that," and she drops her hands and laughs.
Then she makes it like she's thinking about how she feels for me, so I glare, cross my arms over my chest, put my nose in the air.
It still amazes me how quickly things can change. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that at my age I would ever feel the urge to be silly. But here I am, playing a weird mime game with my wife from the penalty box.
The horn sounds again, startling me. I look up to find I've missed the entire end of the game, though I'm relieved to see that we won. Finally released from the box, I skate over to my teammates and it's then I realize that the number of victories I have left to celebrate are limited.
I pat some of the guys on the back but don't waste too much time before I'm headed off the ice toward the locker room. Dave appears next to me, giving me a nudge with his elbow. "You good, man?"
I nod and then with a small sigh I reply, "I am. I'm more than good."
Dave says nothing as we continue on our way, so after a moment I turn and look at him to find him staring at me with a strange expression on his face. "What?"
He shakes his head and says, "You're done, aren't you?"
Now I shake my head, my brows raising as I say, "Done with what?"
He laughs as if he's just now coming to this big revelation. "With hockey. You're fucking done with hockey."
His statement catches me off guard and it takes me a minute to respond. I stop just outside the locker room door, my eyes meeting his as I say, “Well, you know, if I have to choose between being forced out or leaving on my own terms, I'm always going to pick my own terms."
He nods, his hand now resting on my upper arm. "But it was a hell of a ride, wasn't it?"
I smile, throwing an arm over his shoulder as I turn us toward the locker room doors. "Fucking right it was."
We don't say anything else about it, each of us going about our own post-game rituals. I get a quick shower, throwing on some comfortable clothes and then pulling on the clean jersey someone left for me for the post-game press.
I don't typically do press things, but every once in a while, I agree to it. Given this was my big 4-0 I figured it was as good a time as any. At least it would give me some time to defend my advanced age and rub the goals I scored in their face.
Of course, knowing that I'm going to be involved just draws more press. Ribbing aside, they know I very rarely answer personal questions and other than confirming the very basics of my marriage to Cassidy, the press had been kept in the dark.
They've got me and Dave up there, a couple of younger guys and Coach cracking jokes, mostly at my expense, when one of the local news channels singles me out for a question. "Ren, are you looking forward to the upcoming playoffs?"
I snatch the mic from Dave who was making like he was going to answer it for me and then I laugh and respond, "Actually, I'm looking forward to it more than usual."
"Oh really, why is that?"
I pause, glance over at Coach and then at Dave.
And then I look over at Cassidy, standing in the same spot she's always standing in, though before today I probably didn't even know.
Her lips curve up in a small smile and then, looking her right in the eyes, I lift the mic to my mouth and state, "Because this will be my last playoffs. "
A hush falls over the room and another reporter shouts, "Are you trying to curse next season there, Ren?"
Chittering of laughter breaks through but then I laugh as I add, "No. Not at all. I just mean this is going to be my last season playing hockey."
Cassidy's eyes widen and one of her hands lifts, presses against her chest. And then she mouths, "What?" And I laugh again, raising one of my hands as everyone starts asking questions at once.
Once the room is silent, I go on, "As far back as I can remember, I have loved hockey. I've spent most of my life living and breathing the sport. Honestly, for most of my adult life, I couldn't even fathom the idea that I could ever love anything more than hockey."
I bring my focus back to Cassidy, now obviously struggling to hold back her own tears. "But what I've learned over the last few months is not only can I love something as much as hockey, but I can love someone so much that hockey doesn't even exist anymore."
I give Cassidy a nod, motioning for her to meet me out back and she disappears, wiping her eyes as she goes. Then, right as people are gearing up to ask a million questions, I state, "And that's all I have to say about that."
I drop the mic on the table, pat Dave on the shoulder as I rise to my seat. I stop over at Coach, hand extended, which he takes with a firm shake.
Then, with a final wave, I walk out and I don't look back.