24. Crosby
Chapter 24
Crosby
“ L et’s fucking go! Keep it simple, Bones!” Coach yells from the bench as I charge up my lane, trying to help my wingman get the coverage he needs. “This is our fucking game!” I swiped the puck from Bridger late in the third, passing quickly to Bones who has the most space in the neutral zone. With their defenders pushing too close to our blue line, he’s making Miami eat their mistakes as he speeds in the opposite direction toward their net. “Low to high! Low to high! That’s it! Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!”
Charlie lives up to his nickname, surgically putting the puck in the smallest space between the goalie’s glove and the post. The buzzer is almost deafening as we swarm him in the corner of the rink.
“That’s how you fucking play, baby!” Tex screams, hitting our teammate on his helmet with his glove in celebration. We’ve gone up by a goal with less than three minutes to play. We all skate over to the bench for a line change. It’s time to take a few breaths and suck down some water before we go out one last time when Miami pulls their goalie.
It’s two weeks into January, our season well and truly underway. We’ve sat comfortably near the top of our division for the last month, and every game counts to keep us there. Tonight isn’t a divisional matchup, but it is the first time this season we’ve faced Miami, bringing a different kind of importance. It’s been a hell of a media shitstorm leading up to the game with a lot of chatter about facing our former star, which earned more than a few eye rolls from everyone on the team.
Violet was originally tasked with crafting some voiceover video that would have had me acting tough and confrontational, an idea she explained came from Ethan but everyone else hated. I told her I would do it if she needed it, but I was quickly shut down.
“No way are you going to do something like this for me,” she says, “I’m not sure it’s the best way to convey the narrative of a rivalry—feels really aggressive for social media. Let’s just do a scene from ‘The Office’ with Gus. You can play Jim, he can be Dwight. Gives the same ‘rivals vibe’ without the shitty take. It’ll be fine. Everyone in the department makes changes on the fly, it’s okay—Ethan’s told us we can.”
Miami charges back toward our end, but their passes are getting sloppy. Their right winger manages to hold onto the puck just inside the blue line, and he slaps a shot at the net. Nicky drops into a butterfly, the puck deflecting off his pads, and Miami can’t secure any kind of rebound. My team clears it back up toward center ice, and Coach is yelling at us to change.
I jump over the wall as fast as I can, taking in the formation shifts in the players wearing Miami’s white and electric teal jerseys. Tex scoops the puck securely against the blade of his stick, deftly maneuvering it away from a Miami defender. He swipes it and spins, sending it in my direction, but his aim and my speed are out of sync. The puck ends up behind me, traveling back toward our zone where Gus has swept it up.
With that, there’s enough breathing room for Miami to pull their goalie, adding a sixth attacker to the ice. No whistles mean we’re stuck on the ice, and I can just barely see we’re near the ninety-second mark.
I twist again, trying to regain some control of my lane, especially now that I have to contend with another skater. Bones is coming up next to me, arcing wide to draw his Miami counterpart with him. I turn, skating backward for a moment to see where the pass will go. Gus slips it to Obie who dekes against a Miami player and shoots it up the ice between his legs back to Tex.
Skating hard from the middle toward Tex’s lane, I catch his pass as I cross in front of him. I lift my head to see the empty net, but my teammates are too deep in coverage to pass to. I could take the shot.
I crouch to slap the puck in.
A blurred streak of white and teal in the corner of my eye hurtles itself at me too fast. I can’t see who’s coming, and there’s not enough time to brace for the hit.
There’s a blinding pain as I’m smashed against the boards. My head hits first, my helmet making a sickening sound in my ears. The rest of me is crushed, and I crumple to the ice, unable to keep my feet under myself. Blackness seeps in at the edges of my vision. I can’t blink it away, even as my eyes pop open, and the air whooshes from my lungs when I hit the ice. The moment of panic as my body struggles to reinflate them is the last thing I remember before the blackness takes over, and I lose sight of everything to the fuzziness.
I hear my name. It swims through a muffled sound, like my ears know what to do, but my brain can’t figure out how to make it clear. I try to shake my head, but the tiniest movement makes it feel like I strapped a cement block to it. I can’t move without sharp, piercing pain in my skull.
My name is called again. A little clearer, and this time, I think I recognize the voice. It’s then I realize everything is black. My eyes must be closed, but I don’t remember closing them. I lift my eyelids, something that is oddly difficult. Why do they feel like they’re bench pressing one hundred pounds? I focus on the feeling, willing my eyes to open. It takes a few tries and some blurry blinks, but I manage to get them to obey my commands.
It is blindingly bright. Suddenly, all my senses seem to come back online at once: I smell the familiar frigid coldness of ice that has a distinctly chemical after scent. The cold is seeping through my jersey and pads, making my skin tingle as it mixes with sweat. I want to shiver to shake it off, but moving that many body parts seems like too big of a challenge after opening my eyes took so long.
I hear my name being called by Coach. My coach. That’s right. I was playing a hockey game. The arena is oddly quiet except for concerned murmurs around me and Coach Andrews talking to me. He’s hovering just above my head, meaning he isn’t speaking loudly, but my head registers it as a shout. I want to get up. Everything about the way I’ve played this sport for nearly two decades insists on it. But my head is throbbing in a way that is familiar and horrifying at the same time, so I just kind of roll off my side a little, looking up to the source of my name.
“Crosby!” There’s relief in his voice. I blink stupidly in response, not sure what else to do. I’ve never taken a hit like that before. My brain oddly supplies what’s happened to me at that exact moment, and all the pain comes with it. “Holy shit. Can you move?”
I offer a groan and try to get my hands under me to sit up. A couple of members of the training staff immediately reach under me and get me to a seated position where I can lean back against the side of the rink. A cacophony of noise almost sends me back to the ground.
Cheers. The crowd is cheering.
“Get me the fuck out of here.” I look directly at Coach. He nods at me and starts giving directions. Pain explodes behind my eyes again, and I don’t need to ask for anything else before I’m awkwardly lifted to my skates and helpfully shoved toward the bench. I’m surprised I’m moving under my own power as I pass through the back door and into the tunnel, but aside from my head and a little twinge in my right ribs, it seems my body handled the assault well.
I stumble a little as we get into the training room off the locker room. Someone turns the lights off, releasing a little tension in my shoulders. It’s much easier to see when there’s just light spilling in from the hallway, the pain less intense without the harsh fluorescents above me. The door closing helps shut out the sounds of my team coming back to change. The game must be over.
With some help, I get up on a padded table, the staff taking my gloves and helmet off. I just sit and let them work. Doing too much else hurts. There are questions and exams, imaging with the x-ray machine and more removal of my gear, the pile growing at my feet. Someone removed my skates, that was nice of them.
Our team doctor—only known to us as “Doc”—gives me a diagnosis of a concussion and at least two bruised ribs among the other various aches. I think I nod in reply, but my head still feels like a lead ball, so I’m not sure I was effective.
“You’re off the ice for at least a week, Crosby,” Doc tells me. “Stay home tomorrow, but I want to see you here first thing the day after that. Report every day so we can reevaluate and start you back on some dry land exercises in a couple of days. For the next forty-eight hours, I don’t want you doing anything crazy, you hear me? Rest. Minimal screens and lots of sleep.”
“You got it, Doc.” I grimace as I slide off the table onto my feet. Fuck, this is going to suck. I try to bend to pick up my discarded pads.
“Let the equipment guys get them this time,” Doc continues as he steps to the door. “You have someone who can come stay with you?”
“Do I need someone to?” I answer, looking at my gear one last time before following him to the open door.
He nods. “It’s usually helpful. You’re going to feel like shit. Plus, if you lose consciousness again or begin vomiting, you’ll need more imaging.”
I try to laugh at that and end up groaning. Doc gives me an apologetic smile, walking with me to the locker room. As I reach the threshold and we break apart, I realize it's quiet inside. More time than I realize must have passed during my exam, leaving the place almost empty.
At my locker, I see my helmet on the shelf, my gear bag gone, and a towel for the showers draped across the bench. I pull my phone from the combination safe we have in the back of our units and lower to the wooden bench slowly. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus on the screen without wincing and even longer to get through the messages as I try to follow Doc’s orders. THE RUBBER PUCKIES have been busy.
Nicky
Locker room should be empty. Made sure the rest of the boys cleared out fast. We’ve got your gear bag.
Tex
I think everyone was happy to give you the space. And maybe try and catch Bridger in the hall before he made it to the bus.
Bones
What a fucking asshole.
Gus
I’m in the hall. Give a shout if you need something. Then, we’ll make sure to get you home when you’re ready.
Tex
Allison will be happy to follow us in your car.
Bones
Meals are being delivered for the next three days.
Obie
I called Violet. She’s meeting us at the house.
Emotion clogs my throat. I don’t have it in me to type a response, staring at the screen even this long is starting to make my head hurt again, so I send a thumbs up to let them know I read everything. I switch back to the unread messages, quickly picking out Violet’s.
Sparks
I’ll be waiting at your place. You can’t be alone right now. And I’ll be staying until you tell me to go home.
I barely manage to keep myself from responding with I never want you to go home. It’s a truth I’ve felt since Christmas, but it isn’t the kind of thing to first say over text. I try to take a deep breath, but it hurts enough to draw a grunt from me. I settle on a heart reaction to her message.
The early morning light is gray in my room. It seeps in through the edges of the curtains, painting everything with a light wash that will grow brighter soon enough. But for now, it doesn’t permeate the space strongly enough to chase away the lingering night in the stretches of shadows. The push and pull between the dawn and the dark is one of my favorite times of the day, when neither wakefulness nor sleep rule. There’s a wistfulness that feels like the remnants of a dream, but unlike when I’m unconscious, I control what happens.
As I roll gingerly to my uninjured side in bed, it feels like I’m still inside a dream when I take in the sight of Violet next to me. She doesn’t seem real, the light in the room giving her an ethereal glow.
Her brunette waves spill across the pillow behind her, dripping down to thinly veil the bold print of my last name across her back. The old practice jersey in signature black she pilfered for bed contrasts where it brushes against the skin of her creamy thighs. She’s kicked off the covers, curling her legs up against her body and away from me. I carefully lift myself against my pillows to lean enough to catch her face. It isn’t in the peaceful state I’ve become accustomed to waking up next to. There’s a slight pinch between her eyebrows as though, even in sleep, she’s deep in thought, and her lips are parted around quiet breaths.
When I arrived home, Violet was waiting. She hugged me with care before guiding me into my bathroom and helping me soak in my large tub. There was nothing sexual in the way she stripped my clothes before shedding her own and sliding in behind me. She quietly and diligently worked her small fingers into my aching muscles to ease my body into a temporary state of comfort before helping me climb into bed.
Every time I woke through the night, she was there with the next dose of ibuprofen or acetaminophen and murmured words of reassurance. Violet never complained, waving off my attempts to tell her I was fine, and pointedly dismissed my comment to get some sleep of her own.
I slouch back down in the mountain of downy comfort, content to watch her sleep for a bit, thinking of last night. I’ve been injured before; in my line of work it’s a guaranteed hazard of the job. I’ve played with a fractured foot, a dislocated pinky, and a few concussions that didn’t knock me out. It was never a big deal, and I certainly never asked to have someone look after me.
But not having to ask is different. Having a person fill the need without prompting heals me more than any pill could begin to.
Violet was here.
Is here .
An adorable snort sounds before Violet jerks a little and rolls over to look at me. She’s alert, eyes wide with concern, hands reaching out to touch me before she pulls them back to herself and sits up.
“Are you all right?” A loose strand of hair floats down along the side of her face. She’s a perfect mess sitting before me, and it makes my heart swell. “Does something hurt, love?”
Now, she does reach for me tenderly, as her quiet endearment shatters me wide open inside. With her warm hand on my cheek, I ignore the pain that rips up my side when I wrap an arm around her and drag her against me.
“Crosby!”
It’s a toothless protest. Violet’s completely pliant in my hold, all soft curves and gentle breaths. Her blue eyes look up at me, beautiful and sweet, as she waits for what I’ll do next.
“I love you.” I eagerly watch her eyes widen briefly before they soften at the edges, turning glassy. Her mouth parts, her pink, pillowy lips forming a perfectly round shape before she closes them, and a smile spreads. It turns upward, her cheeks plumping in the apples and blushing beautifully. “I do. I love you. I think I was half in love with you the first time I saw you.” I press my forehead against hers, sweeping the hair off her face before holding her between my hands. “The other half fell into place when you told me you didn’t date hockey players.”
A breathy laugh bubbles up from her before it turns fuller, mixing with my own. Not letting go, I pull back enough to see her face. The blush has mottled a little on her fair skin while twin tears cascade over the full curve of her cheeks. I catch them easily with the pads of my thumbs, cocking my head to assess if she is sad or happy.
“That did me in. I was an absolute goner,” I continue. More laughter and a blinding smile from her. “I didn’t know why you were against hockey players, and I wasn’t sure I really cared. I just knew if you gave me a chance, I would do anything to show you that playing hockey wasn’t even half of who I am or what I could offer you. What I will continue to offer you, if you’ll let me.” She smiles again before I press my lips to hers, sealing in my words. Kissing her is different with the depth of my feelings between us.
“I love you, Violet. For all that you are. For the joy you bring. For the kindness you show. For the confident way you won’t settle for less because you’ve learned your worth. For how deeply you care. For how hard you try. For the courage you had to start over again. For taking a chance on me—I think I love you the most for that.” I look at her, soft and beautiful in my arms, the morning light turning a gauzy gold around us, and I’m not surprised to feel I want this scene every morning for as long as she’ll have me.
“I love you, too.”
Her voice is quiet but confident. I ignore the pain in my body and the dull throb in the back of my head to keep her as close as I can hold her. Violet presses her forehead to my sternum, a deep sigh escaping her to fan across my chest. We sit together for what could be hours, breathing each other in until sleep returns.