20. Connor
20
CONNOR
J ock, compression shirt, pads, shin guards, hockey socks, pants, skates, jersey, helmet, gloves, mouthguard, stick—that’s the exact order I have to put everything on for the game. If I deviate from it even a little bit, everything will go wrong.
I repeat the list over and over in my head like a prayer as I enter the locker room. There aren’t too many guys here yet but it is an hour before call time.
I’m always early or right on time. I arrive fifteen minutes ahead of schedule then wait in my car until exactly the right moment to walk in.
That didn’t happen today, though. I was so jittery after breakfast this morning I had to stop myself from heading to the stadium immediately after.
My brain has been rotating between three thoughts and three thoughts only.
One, we have to win this game; two, I am the world’s shittiest friend for keeping a major secret from Max; and three, everything is going to blow up in my face and I’m going to lose the game and my friend in one fell swoop.
I try to focus on my equipment instead, taking extra time inspecting each and every piece in my locker.
If my gear is perfect, then I will be perfect. If I’m perfect, then the world won’t come crashing down around me.
I check each of my pads for any damage. Then I scour my uniform for any hint of lint. After that, I inspect my socks closely for any holes or tears. My skates and helmet are meticulously checked next, then finally my stick and mouthguard.
I check it all again.
And again.
And again.
I want to make sure I haven’t missed anything.
By my fifth round of checks, everyone is in the locker room. Fortunately, they’re all too busy doing their own preparation rituals to pay any attention to me.
Well, except for Max, apparently. As soon as I start to put on my gear, he makes a beeline for me.
“That bite mark on your shoulder,” Max says, snapping his towel at me, “Am I finally going to get to meet her?”
Fuck .
“Meet who?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’ve clearly been seeing someone.”
“I see a lot of someone’s. You can’t expect me to remember all their names.” I shrug.
“That might work on everyone else but I know you too well. The last time you were this jittery before a game was freshman year. Remember? You invited your girlfriend to come watch you play, and you kept messing with your pads and gear just like you were doing earlier. So, I’ll ask again. Who’s the new girlfriend and when do I get to meet her?”
How the hell do I answer that question?
Here’s a wild idea. You could tell him the truth.
And get my face beat in before the game.
I clear my throat and try to feign nonchalance. “Even if I had someone new in my life—and I’m not admitting to anything so you can wipe that grin off your face—why the hell would I introduce her to someone who’d immediately scare her off?”
“I would not scare her off,” Max protests.
“I’m with O’Brian on this one, Cap. You’re pretty intense,” DeMarco says, weighing in.
“Come on, D, your fiancé loves me.”
“She does now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you like to interrogate our girls like they’re criminals.” Karlsson laughs.
The other guys around us start nodding their heads in agreement and adding in their own two cents.
I can feel my shoulders starting to relax as Max directs his focus to them, taking it off me. I hate keeping such a big secret from him but what would I even say?
“Hey, Max. I wanted to let you know that me, Dimitri, and Aiden have been consistently fucking your sister for a little over a month. And no, none of us have any idea how serious it is or where it's even going.”
I’m fairly confident the result would be him murdering us then dropping us down a deep well to dispose of our mangled bodies.
Just the thought makes my skin itch. I can feel every piece of equipment touching my skin, making it even worse.
I suddenly want to take everything off, hop in the shower, and scrub until the feeling is gone, but I can’t. Coach is in the center of the room waiting for everyone to settle.
It’s almost game time, which means it’s speech time. So there will be no relief for me right now, or maybe ever.
I fight the urge to pick at and readjust my uniform because I can see Max watching me out of the corner of his eye. In fact, I’m so focused on not fidgeting that I don’t even hear Coach’s pregame speech. When he’s done, I move robotically in line to be announced.
Max is the last one to take his spot in line, and as he passes me, he says, “You can keep her a secret for now, but mark my words, I will find out what woman has enough hold on you to keep you off the puck bunnies.”
“For the last time, I’m not seeing anyone,” I lie.
“Right.”
Damn it. I should have known he’d see this as a challenge.
As if my life wasn’t complicated enough without Max actively trying to dig through it. I’m so unsettled that the guy behind me has to poke me when my name is called.
The only reason I make it across the ice without falling is muscle memory. Skating is as automatic as breathing for me. I just hope that muscle memory will help compensate for the disorganized state of my mind.
The introductions are complete and the anthem is played. Now I’m skate-to-skate with the center for the Ice Hawks, waiting for the puck to drop.
Looking at him is like peering into an inverted mirror. Longer dark hair, eyes that are almost black, thin mouth—we couldn’t be any more opposite. I’d even hazard a guess that his mind is sharp and his focus is clear, unlike my own. So it’s comes as no surprise when he manages to get control of the puck in the faceoff.
Normally that would send me into a frenzy. I’d develop tunnel vision and my sole reason for being would be getting that puck back.
Today, however, I have to dig for that focus. Everyone else seems to be moving at double speed except for me. It’s like I have a ten-second delay.
Somehow, I’m in position for Max to pass the puck.
I blink, and suddenly it’s next to my stick.
I have a clear path to the net and I line up my shot.
Wait. Is this where my hands are supposed to go? This grip has been fine all through the period. Why is it feeling weird now?
My few seconds of insecurity leaves the door wide open for a check so hard I can feel my teeth rattle.
I can also feel Max’s eyes on me.
Get it together.
I tug at my jersey, trying to get it to sit in a way that doesn’t bother me.
I can barely stay present for the first period.
The second period isn’t much better.
I’m playing fine and holding my own but fine isn’t good enough. I need to be at the absolute top of my game, every game. If I give anything less than that, I’m a failure.
Every time I catch a snippet of Liv’s voice over the PA system, I feel my stress level go up. The more stressed I get, the more I pick at my uniform and second-guess myself.
I know she’s focusing most of her attention on me today. I can feel the weight of her gaze from the commentator’s box, just like I can feel Max’s wherever he is on the ice.
I know that she’s watched me play all season, but up until now, I haven’t given her any reason to be disappointed in me. I know the moment I falter, the moment I play a bad game or seem to be anything other than confident and in control, she’ll leave.
At least that’s what happened with every other woman I’ve tried to open up to. Why should I expect Liv to be any different?
I wave off Max’s concern as we head back into the locker room for the second intermission and head straight to the showers. I usually wait until after the game is completely over to shower, but today I need it.
The shock of the cold water beating down on my skin pushes through the brain fog, giving me a moment of clarity. I need to keep my focus on the game, and I think I know how to do it.
I call up the image of a locker in my mind and picture shoving everything that’s bothering me into it.
Nerves, sensory overload, guilt, into the locker it goes.
It all threatens to spill out again but before it can, I slam the door closed and padlock it.
I can’t afford to be distracted, especially not with the finals right around the corner.
As of right now, we’re practically guaranteed a spot in the playoffs unless I royally fuck up. So as long as I avoid doing that, it’s just a matter of what type of spot the team gets.
If we keep going the way we’re going, we have a good chance at winning our division.
My mental locker seems unstable, so I picture a room around it and lock that, too.
When I do it feels like my brain splits in half. Weak, pathetic Connor stays in the room with the locker, leaving confident Connor in control, with undisputed reign over the rest of my head.
The sensation of it makes my brain itch but I stuff that into the locked-up room, too. I’ll deal with it all later, or better yet, it’ll stay locked in there so long I forget it even exists.
When I swap in for Berstein at the top of the final period, I burst out on the ice like a man possessed. All I can think about are hockey plays and breathing.
Max, Aiden, and I are going full bore, taking every opportunity to try and score.
The Ice Hawks aren’t making it easy. They haven’t scored a goal all game, Dimitri’s made sure of that. So now they’re out for blood.
The score is one to nothing, and I know they’re aiming to tie things up to force a shootout. That’s what they do every single time, because Ashnikov is one of the best shots in the league.
It’s actually how they’ve won twenty five percent of their games this season, especially during games where they were outmatched.
We’re not having it today, though. Every single shot they try to take is thwarted with extreme prejudice by our defensive line. It’s a tough third period but a successful one.
When we head back to the locker room, Aiden’s fingers are twitching, no doubt itching for his sketchpad. Dimitri’s face is speckled with blood, just the way he likes it, and we have another win under our belts.
I’m fine or at least I would be if my fucking gear would hang straight in my locker.
I know the equipment manager is going to be coming around and taking it all out to be cleaned, but it doesn’t fucking matter. I have to hang it exactly right or my whole day will be ruined.
I rehang my shoulder pads for the third time and step back to look at them.
They’re crooked.
It’s at this moment that all my safeguards fail. The locker in my head explodes and reduces that locked room to rubble.
I yank the pads out of the locker, throw them on the ground, and let loose a stream of curses so obscene it’d make a sailor blush.
When I come back to my senses, I’m breathing hard, the eyes of everyone in the room on me.
Max meets my gaze, and I swear in that instant, he knows exactly what I need him to do. He crosses the room and claps me affectionately on the shoulder.
“Looks like you need a drink.” He laughs. “Actually, you know what? We could all use a drink. We fought a good fight out on the ice today and we deserve to celebrate. First round at the Onyx Club is on me. Any takers?”
Just like that, all the focus moves to Max, and the energy of the room shifts. Most of the guys start making their way out, chanting “shots” as they go.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Any time.”
Then he turns to Aiden and Dimitri. “I know Connor’s going to need some alone time to decompress but what about you two? You’re not going to make me deal with our drunk teammates by myself, are you?”
“I can go out for a bit but I have a gallery opening tomorrow. I won’t be staying out late. I need to go in early to make sure they set everything up correctly.”
“I’ll take it. Dimitri?”
“Someone has to make sure you don’t overdo it like you did in Vegas. It might as well be me.”
“I should have known she’d tell you about that.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I guess I should just be grateful she kept it to our group and didn’t use it as a fun fact in an interview.”
The word Vegas immediately slingshots a hard lump of guilt into my throat. That was the point when I started lying to him, and I haven’t stopped since.
Even so, I laugh along with them. The last thing I need is him asking if I’m okay, emotion taking over, and the whole story spilling out.
Before they make it all the way out the door, Max turns back to look at me. “You need anything at all, just let me know, and I’ll be right there.”
The guilt lump has become a boulder and all I can do is give him a quick nod.
As soon as I lose sight of them, I whip out my phone and text Liv.
I’d say the day’s gone to hell, but I started there this morning. I don’t want to be by myself. Can I stay at your place tonight?