Chapter 3 #2
Since he left the Inferno, he hadn’t touched the ice. Even the synthetic tiles forming a mini rink in his basement had sat unused for the last three years.
It was such a fucking waste.
Despite his therapist drilling into his head that his mental health was more important, he couldn’t help but have regrets over having issues in the first place.
The question was, could he go back?
Could he face the attention he’d get from being on the ice again?
He was determined to figure that out.
Later that night, after his mom and Madison were snug in their beds, he wandered down the stairs to his basement, stopping in front of the closed door to the room he’d avoided for three years.
When Natalie got pregnant, he bought this place in Cherrywood to be closer to his mom and sister.
His place in Philly was only about thirty minutes away, but that had been too far.
He was so excited to be an uncle, and he didn’t want to miss any of it.
Plus, this place had way more room than his townhouse in the city.
One of the reasons he picked it was for the huge basement. It had a large storage room he’d turned into the home training center of his dreams.
Behind the door was wall-to-wall synthetic tiles that acted as ice. There were also shelves for all his gear and top-of-the-line training equipment.
He wasn’t even sure if any of it still worked.
He wasn’t sure if he still worked.
Did he still have the skills to get on the ice? He had to have lost an edge after three years without practice.
Granted, an alumni game only featured alumni, other retired players no longer at the top of their game.
Most of the guys hadn’t played professionally in at least ten years, while a couple on the roster retired nearly forty years ago.
It was still a far cry from a random beer league though.
A lot of the guys he’d face would be legends.
What happened if he made it on the ice only to become the biggest laughingstock of hockey? What if he couldn’t stop the puck anymore?
Tobias reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his most treasured possessions: the first knot his gram tied for him.
He rubbed the knot of yarn between his fingers to help settle his nerves.
It was knitted into a monkey’s fist, a tightly wrapped ball he’d carried since playing juniors-level hockey.
Continuing to roll it in his hand, he grabbed the doorknob with his other hand, taking a deep breath before he turned it and pushed the door open.
When he flicked the light switch, he also turned on an unused portion of his brain or a long-dormant piece of his heart.
He scanned the quiet room, and took in the layer of dust covering everything, thankful he protected his gear with his knitting.
Grabbing a broom in the corner, he made his way along the tiles, pushing away the dust and revealing the white of the synthetic ice. When the floor was clear, he sat on the bench in front of his gear. His hands trembled as they reached out to touch the knitted bag holding his skates.
He dragged it toward him and released a shuddery breath as he gazed inside.
His mind quieted as he pulled the skates from the bag, his fingers running along the leather of each boot as he inspected them. They seemed like they were in okay condition for what he needed to do.
Settling the skates at his feet, his breath continued to stutter, his lungs struggling to work normally.
Dipping the first foot into the boot, he was hit by a wave of longing.
When he’d played, between the pipes was his happy place. A place he hadn’t visited in years for reasons he was starting to forget.
His movements became surer as he tied his laces, like he was tightening a belt buckle in anticipation for the ride of his life.
He stood slowly, focusing on his balance as the blades beneath his feet took his weight, the leather creaking from the years of ignoring them.
With a deep breath, he glided forward a step. Then another. And another. Until he was making small laps around his mini rink.
His body sang as he fell into movements he’d done millions of times. His brain was quiet as he moved gracefully on the ice.
His face ached for some reason, until he realized he was smiling.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t smiled in the three years since he retired, although it was rare, mostly reserved for his family.
But this smile? This smile was for himself and no one else.
And that he hadn’t done in years. He couldn’t remember the last thing he did for himself, and that thought hit him like a puck to the face.
He dropped to his knees in front of his net, his hands shaking as he steadied them on the floor beneath him, and sobs wracked his body.
An endless tumult of sadness, grief, exhaustion, joy and relief all hitting him at once.
The endless tears fell as he brought his forehead to one of the posts of his net, and he spoke to it like a long-lost friend.
“I missed you. I’m so sorry I left you for so long.”
Tobias wasn’t sure yet if this epiphany would get him back on the NHL ice, but he was sure of one thing.
He wanted hockey in his life again.