23. Tate
Ithought the most painful thing I’d ever experienced was waking up from having metal inserted into my fucking face. But something far more destructive, far more agonizing, is watching my team on the ice, through a screen, from my sickbed.
It’s brutal.
We’re winning three nil, and our back up netminder, Mikko, has just been put in since it looks like Ares pulled his groin, or something in that area.
Our starting goalie is flexible as fuck, but even flexible people have limits, and while he saved us from conceding a goal, he definitely went a little too far. He limped off to the bench, and I know I’m not the only one hoping he’ll be okay.
Hot tears of frustration stream down my face as I stare at the screen.
It’s been two weeks since I got hit in the face, and while things with the lovely Penelope are going super well... I dunno... I guess I thought the guys would suck without me. Or hoped. Or... something.
But they don’t. They seem to have filled my space without missing a beat on the ice.
My heart is hollow, my gut heavy, and my team successful.
Despite my absence and injury.
What does this mean?
Am I not as good as I thought I was? Am I unnecessary?
I busted my ass for years to get to where I am, another step toward where I want to be.
And in the split second it took for that puck to shatter my face, it seems my confidence shattered right there along with it.
Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?