Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Leo
“Why is the fucking bench wet?” I gripe, wiping it off with a towel.
“Might be shit,” Carter mutters. “This whole bench smells like a frat house toilet.”
We just came back to the bench after a line change, and I’m gassed. It was a long shift of nonstop skating up and down the ice. I’m breathing hard when I finally sit down.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Carter’s leaning forward, talking to Lucien, who’s a couple guys to my right.
“It’s fucking Bash.” Lucien says. “It’s always Bash.”
Carter looks at Bash, who’s sitting on his other side.
“It’s that Alfredo sauce,” Bash says. “Why do we have Alfredo sauce before a game?”
Carter shakes his head. “It’s not the chef’s fault you’re ripping so much ass, there’s probably a hole in the ass of your pants.”
“I can’t help it.”
Our second offensive line is killing it tonight. They’ve scored both goals we have on the board so far. Jack Grover fires a puck at the net and I lean forward, willing it to go in.
“Nice, Grover!” I yell.
It brushes against the edge of the net, but misses. I groan in disappointment, along with most of the fans in the arena.
When I see Grover skating toward the bench, I get up, positioning myself to replace him as quickly as I can. As soon as he’s close enough, I move from the wall onto the ice, digging my skate blades in hard to help me catch up.
I’m pretty sure Mara’s here. Carter said Suki told him she was coming. I resisted my urge to text her all day, making myself focus on my game-day routine instead.
Her tortured expression yesterday really got me. I’ve called her icy and void of emotions many times, but she’s really the opposite. She feels a lot. Though she tries to make it look like nothing gets to her, she feels like a failure sometimes. Same as me.
When play stops, I look up at Carter’s season ticket seats. I can barely make out Mara’s dark hair beside Suki. Suki and the girls sometimes watch from one of the boxes, but they prefer to watch games from the stands, where they’re closer to the action.
Something about trying to make Mara feel better yesterday made me feel more grounded today. I kept myself in my routine, but stayed ready in case she texted that her day wasn’t any better. I even thought about how I’d respond.
People don’t usually come to me for comfort or advice. Carter is our team captain, and if someone on our team needs guidance on something, whether it’s hockey or just life, he’s the one they go to.
Bash is a lighthearted extrovert who would listen if someone needed him to. He can be serious when he needs to be.
I’m more of a loner. I love my teammates and they’re like my family, but I never let anyone see too much of the real me. I hardly ever have anyone over because I don’t want people getting an up-close view of me.
My meds sit on my kitchen counter. A bookshelf in my living room has lots of sci-fi and history books, but also self-help ones.
Books about anxiety and depression that Dr. Laudner has recommended.
My home is the only place I can completely let my guard down, so I don’t hide the things I don’t want other people to see. I just don’t invite anyone over.
Carter and Bash are on the ice with me now, and we fall into our rhythm of passing. No more thinking about Mara; I have to focus completely on the game.
One of Toronto’s defenders slams into me and I hit the boards, pain lancing through my knee when it gets turned sharply and suddenly. I elbow him and recover, getting away quickly.
Skating fast and well has been drilled into me since I was a kid.
My youth hockey coach emphasized skating fundamentals above anything else, and I’m a better player for it.
He used to tell us we wouldn’t be able to make a basket or hit a home run on ice skates unless we had mastered skating first, and hockey is no different.
I wouldn’t have made it this far without my skating speed and skills. I still drill on it all the time, my trainer timing me and helping me stay fit enough to keep my times from slipping.
An unexpected opening comes and I take it, firing a slap shot that sends the puck into the net. The arena erupts with cheers, horns and music, my teammates gathering around me.
“There you go, man,” Anson says with a grin.
He really is a nice guy. Faking a relationship with Mara was the best way to avoid dating his sister without offending him. He hasn’t brought his sister up at all since I told him about Mara.
It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s getting me by for now. And for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I’m sure Mara will be willing to show up at events with me now and then for a while.
“Teaching them kids how it’s done!” Andrei says when I return to the bench, clapping me on the knee.
I just nod in response because my knee hurts like a bitch. Usually I get sudden, sharp pain that goes away quickly, but it’s not going away this time.
And even worse, I have to keep playing like nothing’s wrong. I think I’m doing a good job of hiding it. But as soon as we get back to the locker room, the mood light because we won 4–1, our head trainer Marina approaches me.
“What’s up with your left knee?” she asks me.
I shrug. “Just tweaked it. It’s fine.”
“I want to look at it.”
Fuck. That’s going to be excruciating. She’ll do a bunch of range of motion shit and I won’t be able to hide the pain completely.
“Okay, I’ll find you in a little bit.”
She leaves, and I try to think of a way out of it.
My pulse pounds as I strip off my gear, my chest aching faintly.
There’s a one-hundred-percent chance that if I let her examine my knee, she’ll find out I have a torn meniscus, which will not only mean I have an anxiety attack in the locker room for the second time, but also that I’ll get benched.
Caroline covered for me last time, so no one knew I had an anxiety attack. But I don’t think I’ll get that lucky a second time.
And being benched will be even worse. I’ll get put on rest and I might even have to get surgery. If I’m not pushing myself hard in workouts, practices, and games every day, I’ll lose my edge. I’ll get slower. And I might not be able to get back to where I am.
I can barely hold my shit together now. If I lose my career, especially if it’s because I try to return and let my team down by not being the same player anymore ...
The pain in my chest gets sharper. I breathe in and out, then head for the shower. I wash myself quickly, trying to breathe through the increasing ache in my chest.
It’s not a heart attack. It’s just anxiety. You have medication for this.
My knee is killing me. I just want to go home and sit on my couch with Birdie. The dog sitter I hired spent a few hours with her today since I had to be gone all day and night, so I know she’s okay. I want to sit with her because I need it, not because she does.
I already can’t imagine life without her waiting for me at the door every time I get home. We go on walks and I’ve started jogging with her. She doesn’t like being outside without me, probably because she was abandoned in the freezing cold.
I committed to going out with some teammates after the game, though. If it was just me, I’d tell Carter I’m skipping it, but Mara’s going.
I’m lightheaded. Between my chest and my knee, it’s all I can do to put on a happy face when I leave the locker room.
“Hey Abbott, great game,” Dana, a security guard, calls out.
“Thanks.”
I duck my head and take the fastest route I can to the parking lot. Once I’m alone in my car, I put both hands on my steering wheel and rest my forehead on my hands, taking a few deep breaths.
Though I escaped Marina tonight, she’ll find me tomorrow and force me into an exam. Getting out of there was supposed to make me feel better, but my chest pain is getting worse.
Fuck. What if it is a heart attack this time?
I have medication for anxiety attacks at home. I need to convince Mara to leave this dinner as quickly as possible so I can get home and get some medication in me.
That’s going to be easier said than done—especially when they’ll have wine at the restaurant. She usually doesn’t eat much, if anything, before dinner, so she’ll want to eat and drink.
I can’t wait that long, though. I send her a text.
Leo: When you get to the restaurant, pull me aside. Pretend it’s so you can privately congratulate me on my game.
Deep breaths aren’t helping much. I open the calming sounds app on my phone and turn up the volume; the sound of a babbling brook and chirping birds comes on.
The restaurant is close. We’ll make an appearance and get the hell out of there.
I rub my chest as I drive, shaking my head.
Fuck. Why didn’t I just tell Anson I’m not interested in dating his sister?