Chapter 18
Sebastian
“Watch those edges, Sebastian. You’re not deep enough. I need to see more power as you push off!”
I was sick and tired of hearing my name being shouted across the ice.
Coach Dawson had been hounding me all practice, scrutinizing my every move.
It did nothing to ease the dull twinge in my knee that had set in on Sunday morning in the wake of our back-to-back matches against Omaha.
A full day of rest was not enough to ease the inflammation, and after two days of practice, the pain had gotten worse.
But I was determined to push through. The last thing I needed was time off the ice to rest, especially given the uncertainty surrounding my future with Detroit.
I felt a little more hopeless each day that passed without word from Duncan.
Despite my best efforts to fly under the radar all practice, I could feel eyes on me.
Grace had been watching me closely from the moment we hit the ice, as if she could sense something was wrong.
For the third time today, she cut in front of me and spoke in a quiet tone so the coaches didn’t hear us talking.
“What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’re favoring your right side.”
Damn her for being so perceptive.
“Can’t take you eyes off me, can you?” I quipped, flashing a broad smile in an attempt to dissuade her concern. Unfortunately, my words seemed to have the opposite effect. Grace crossed her arms over her chest like she was gearing up to give me a scolding.
“It’s just a little dull pain,” I admitted, looking around to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. “Nothing to worry about. I don’t want to make things worse.”
“Then you should rest.”
I scoffed at the suggestion. “That’s not going to happen. We play Denver this weekend. They’re easily our biggest competition this year.”
“If you want to be in your best shape for that game, practicing on a sore knee won’t help,” she insisted, and a few our teammates shot glances our way.
“Don’t mom me,” I warned in a low tone. “I’m capable of knowing my limits.”
I didn’t wait around for Grace to tell me off, not when other people had begun to notice our whispered conversation.
Instead, I fell back into line behind Kent and prepared for another round of drills.
For the remainder of practice, Grace kept her distance, though I could feel her worried glances from across the ice.
Knowing both she and Coach Dawson were scrutinizing my every move, I pushed through the pain and finally managed a perfect run through our transitioning and attacking drill.
By the time we exited the rink at the end of the hour, the dull throb in my knee had progressed to a steady thrum.
I held back a wince as I collapsed onto the bench.
I barely had a moment to breathe when Grace was upon me, her helmet nestled between her side and her arm, one gloved hand clasped over the edge of the barrier of the rink.
“Taylor’s coming to take a look at that knee,” she said matter-of-factly.
I held back a snarl of frustration at the clear concern etched into Grace’s eyes. She was doing was she thought was right, but bringing in the head trainer was unnecessary. Pain after an injury like mine was normal occurrence. I couldn’t expect to feel in perfect form all the time.
“Don’t meddle. I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Do you trust me?”
An answer came to me without an ounce of hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Then let her look at your knee,” she pleaded, and I was prepared to put up a fight until I heard the fear in her tone. “Please, do it for me.”
“Fine.”
Begrudgingly, I stripped off my gear and folded my socks down to reveal the swollen skin around my knee.
Grace let out a dramatic gasp, leaning forward to get a better look.
I was seconds away from receiving a lecture when a formidable woman stepped into the players bench.
My body was seized by a brief sense of panic at the sight of the middle-aged head trainer.
I’d endured countless hours working through torturous exercises with Taylor throughout my recovery period.
We’d spent the second half of the previous season working together on a daily basis.
While I was thankful for everything she’d done to help me recover, I wasn’t thrilled to see her.
She placed her kit on the bench beside me and gave me a cautious smile.
“I hear you’ve been favoring one knee this week,” she said in way of greeting.
Taylor had a built-in bullshit detector, so there was no use in lying.
I immediately dove into an explanation of my pain, giving an overview of when it had started and how it had progressed.
She assessed the knee with careful eyes.
After having me extend it, she felt around the swollen area and asked if I had any pain to the touch.
Grace remained by my side, watching carefully as Taylor ran her tests.
“I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about: some inflammation is expected after the severity of your injury.
I want you to go back to some of the basic exercises you did when you first started recovery—bridging, calf raises, hip abductions.
In the meantime, I’m going to give you a cortisone shot to help with the pain, but I want you to sit out of practice tomorrow. ”
That was not going to happen.
“I’ll do the exercises and the shot, but we have an important game coming up. I can’t miss practice.”
“You can and you will,” said Grace, moving to stand beside Taylor. “Missing one practice won’t affect your game. It will give you time to get that swelling down.”
The head trainer gave Grace an appreciative nod.
“You should listen to her, Sebastian. She also happens to be one of the best players this institution has ever seen.”
When I met Grace’s eyes, all the fight left in me vanished. She had no idea how much power she had over me.
“Fine.”
I sounded like a broken record at this point.
Taylor led us down to the recovery room, where she began to prepare a shot for my knee.
To kill time, Grace poured herself an ice bath and stripped down to her sports bra and compression shorts.
Before getting in, she slowly bent over to place her phone on the ground, sending me a wicked smirk over her shoulder.
“Ice that knee, but you shouldn’t do full submersion for a few days,” Taylor instructed.
After administering the shot, she packed up her things and gave me a stern talking-to about listening to my body. The entire time, Grace had a death grip on the edge of the tub, her eyes squeezed closed as she breathed through the overwhelming cold.
“Please distract me,” she gasped as soon as Taylor left room, and I could hear the pain in her voice.
“I’m not sure I should get naked here. Anyone could walk in.”
She scoffed. “That didn’t stop you in the locker room.”
“You were naked as well, so I couldn’t think straight.”
“Distract me,” she pleaded. “I need to stop thinking about how cold this damn water is. Tell me about one of your favorite hockey moments. Tell me about your favorite goal, I don’t care. Just distract me.”
The memory came to my mind without a second thought, an image of a crowded arena and the sound of a raging crowd flooding my senses. I was immediately transported back in time to my youth hockey days.
“After my dad died, when it was just me and my mom, there was no money for me to join a traveling team. But when she married my stepdad, everything changed. I went from playing in house leagues to making the Chicago Fury U12 team.”
From that moment on, training became intense. Hockey went from my hobby to my entire world. Even as a kid, I needed to be better than everyone. I worked my ass off and promised myself that I would be the best.
“When I was thirteen, we won the CCM Denver Dash. I remember taking off my bucket and gazing around the arena after the final buzzer rang. I’d never felt larger than life until that win.
And then suddenly, I was looking at my dad in the crowd.
The pride on his face, the pure amazement, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. ”
I could feel my heartbeat in my ears just thinking about that day.
“It was the first time I’d seen him since he died.
My mom always said that he came to her at random times, like in the grocery store or outside in our old backyard.
If I’m honest, I thought she was delusional.
But it finally happened to me, and it didn’t take much to realize the significance of him appearing at that very moment. ”
My chest deflated as I let out a long breath.
“The first year or so after his death, I felt a bit of resentment toward hockey. He was the one who’d taught me to love the sport, and then he was gone.
But seeing his face in the crowd and knowing that he was there for my first big win helped reignite my passion.
Being on the ice and playing hockey is how I honor his memory. ”
I’d never told anyone that before, not even my own mother. The memory was sacred, like it was only for me to have. But with Grace, there was no hesitation. I wanted her to know why I was so dedicated to hockey. Maybe it could help her understand why I’d been such an asshole when we’d met.
My mind drifted back to the training room at the sound of sloshing water, as if waking up from a dream. Grace was watching me from the tub with wide eyes and blue-tinged lips. She’d been in the water too long.
“You should get out,” I said gently, reaching for a towel from the shelf above her and holding it out. Slowly, she pulled herself from the freezing water and stepped onto the mat. I placed the towel around her shoulders and pulled her against me.
“I didn’t know,” she said, turning around to face me. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “I didn’t know that your father died. I don’t really know anything about your family, if I’m being honest.”