2. Josh
JOSH
The urge to sniff my knee pads, knowing they could knock out small children, was almost enough to get me, but someone walked into the locker room, and I dropped them into my bag. Maybe I should clean them more than once, before the season started. They were lethal now in May.
“Almost ready?”
I turned and nodded to my captain, Wyatt Hartman. “Yeah, just grabbing a few things.”
“Good. Schultz dropped off his bag this morning. He’s meeting us at the airport.”
I added my chest protector, cup, and cut guards for my wrists. His gaze felt like a thousand-pound weight, monitoring my every movement while I fought to keep my face blank.
“It’s okay to be nervous.”
I cracked my neck as I pulled the zippers closed. “I’m not.”
“You’re not calm.” Even after years of playing together, his uncanny ability to read people threw me.
I finally met his waiting eyes. “It’s a lot.”
“Do you want to back out? They can promote Jason Dexter to starter and find another backup if we give them enough notice.”
I immediately shook my head, “No.”
That would be a PR nightmare. Plus, there’d been too much promo around the rosters. If I bailed, I’d create a mess for everyone involved in putting this on. Not that I would even consider it.
“Then what?” He leaned against a locker a few feet from me.
He wanted the explanation I’d been trying to figure out for days. “This season has been insane, between the Olympics and playoffs––”
“Experiences most players would kill for.”
I closed my eyes. Coming across as a spoiled jerk wasn’t what I wanted.
“That’s not what I meant.” I met his eyes again. “I feel like I’m barely hanging on, like life is happening at a hundred miles an hour. All I can manage is to show up when and where I’m told.”
“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job at that.”
He wasn’t getting it. Maybe it was all his years of experience or his annoyingly calm demeanor. Just once, I’d like to see him crash out.
He tilted his head, like he was trying to read my mind, “Enjoy this, Henson. Live in the moment.”
How can I enjoy anything when I barely know what time zone I’m in these days? All I want is a few days, or weeks, to reset and recharge.
I cleared my throat and nodded. “You’re right. It will be good once we get there.”
He was right. This was an opportunity most players dream of. A truly once in a lifetime series. That didn’t negate the rest of my feelings, though.
“You were chosen for a reason; don’t forget that. Plus, you’re not alone. Schultz and I will have your back, and Coach Abrams will make sure you’re ready.” He straightened and left while I sat on the bench and stared at the wall across from me.
The Stanley Cup championship years glowed over Utah’s logo. I’d been a part of the most recent team, but as the backup goalie. I only saw a few periods of play time through playoffs, and I thought it would be the most challenging thing I’d ever do in my career.
Then the Olympics came around, and I was selected. Playing against the greatest in the world was the honor of my life. I’m pretty sure I blinked and missed the entire thing, though.
I was so jealous of the men and women that were able to soak in each day and each experience.
I wanted to be able to appreciate the moment, knowing one day I’d look back at these as the good old days, but my mind didn’t work that way.
I was too busy stressing over the next game, the next play, the next shot.
I went from having my team, fans, and community counting on me, to the entire country.
Now, I’m playing for them on yet another once in a lifetime stage.
America’s two-hundred and fiftieth birthday celebration was taking over Washington, DC, for the entire summer with the NHL hosting a special tournament, mostly riding the high of the Winter Olympics and keeping new fans of the sport engaged during the off-season.
It was an honor to be chosen; for Hartman and Schultz to be joining me. For my own goalie coach to be selected.
It was all more than we could ask for, but it came with me relinquishing my limited time away from training and playing.
The weeks I’d mentally blocked off for relaxation and rehabbing my mind and body had been claimed.
A privilege.
I’d look back on this experience with awe someday. I’d tell my family about this year with gratitude and reverence.
One day.
But right now, I was seriously concerned about how I was going to make it.
Growing up, I’d always played goalie. From my very first team, my coach saw something that made him certain it was where I belonged.
It's the same something all goalies possess.
The one characteristic we all have in common that makes us want to stand in front of giants and let them take shots at us for sixty minutes.
The missing part of our brain where common sense and self-preservation usually lived. At least, that was what my mom said.
I realized that quality wasn't all goalies were good for around the time I started college.
We’re leaders.
Not captains. Not the most vocal. Not the most demanding.
But we have to be the most confident. We have to be the quiet calm. We determined the energy of the entire team. If we slipped, if we showed our nerves, we set everyone else up for failure.
Goaltenders are the backbone of the team, sturdy and straight and unwilling to turn away.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling that way.
We lost in the second round of the playoffs. I was ready to get on a plane to an island far enough away to have zero interest in hockey and sulk for a few weeks.
I wanted to feel sorry for myself and bask in the guilt of not doing enough.
I was angry. The rage that motivated me through post season had simmered into disappointment. I wanted to lick my wounds and fester until I was ready to come back with a clear head and fresh determination for next season.
I didn’t want to continue to be strong for a whole new group of players. I didn’t want to be the one to demonstrate resilience, perseverance, and selflessness.
The traits that had been drilled into me since I laced up my first set of skates felt like twelve elephants on my chest.
Weeks ago, when I got the call about this tournament, I was still riding the high of making the playoffs.
I was young and stupid. Full of hopes and dreams.
If I were absolutely positive no one else was around, I’d stomp my feet and throw a mini tantrum about not wanting to do this.
Instead, I closed my eyes and stayed perfectly still.
I don’t want to go.
I want to find a hole and live in it until preseason.
Let me waste away in my misery!
Having the self-awareness to recognize I was acting like a petulant child did nothing to stop me.
I could have this moment, then I’d leave the locker room with a smile…or at least not a scowl, and do what needed to be done.
There were a million worse things I could be doing. My agent hadn’t signed me up for embarrassing commercials for athlete’s foot or constipation. I wasn’t getting demoted or fired. There would be no physical danger, apart from what I was used to.
Overall, it wasn’t that bad.
A few weeks in the nation’s capital.
Some would consider that a fun vacation. I could visit museums and monuments. Check out other historical things. Like…fine.
History wasn’t my best subject, but I could find ways to enjoy this.
“Josh?” Amelia’s voice reached me from the hall. She stepped through the open doors and smiled. “Good, you’re still here. Hartman said he spoke to you, and I was hoping I hadn’t missed you.”
“Nope, just finishing up.” My pity party. I heaved my bag over my shoulder and crossed the space toward her.
“Our things are by the back door.” She pointed toward the private entrance that led to the parking garage. Wyatt’s bag and another two were waiting to be taken to the airport.
“Thanks.” She fell into step next to me. “Are you ready for this?”
“Yeah, it should be a good time.” The lie sounded passable to me.
She stopped and put her hand on my arm. “This year has been a lot.” She offered a warm smile. We’d grown close when Derek, her husband, was still on the team and I was his backup. In the two years since his retirement, she’d become a good friend.
Maybe it was through her experiences with Derek, or she was just that good at her job as a team trainer, but she could see through my crap and called me on it. I didn’t often confide in her, or anyone, but she seemed to know what was on my mind already.
“No one wanted the season to end that way, but you did your job. You had the highest save percentage in the division, second in the league.”
I shook my head; it wasn’t enough, though.
“We didn’t score like we needed to. Each game we were trailing on shots on goal. That’s nothing you have control over.”
I blew out a breath. “Did Derek tell you to say that?”
“No, but he’s been raving for the past few days.” She smiled and shook her head. “I have to remind him regularly that he’s not a coach.”
“Yet,” I finally cracked a smile. For being retired, he sure was around a lot. Not that anyone minded. He saw things I missed and made sure to tell me. He also pushed us in ways the coaches didn’t—there were things he could say that would get them in trouble.
“Don’t give him ideas.” Her eyes sparkled. “The kids’ league is keeping him busy.”
I laughed with her. A bunch of the guys had kids just old enough to join the mite team, and it became an expectation for us to attend their mini-games when we were in town. It was both adorable and frustrating. Also, the most likely reason for Derek’s new gray hairs.
She stopped and turned to me, looking at me like she was searching for something specific. “So, how are you feeling? Really?”
Had Hartman tipped her off? I dropped my duffel to the ground. She would get the truth out of me eventually, so I caved. “Honestly? A bit overwhelmed.”
She scowled. “Why?”
“Because this is only my second year starting, and I went to the Olympics and now this? Wyatt makes sense. Schultz makes sense. They’re huge names. They have the respect and admiration of fans all over the country. And the other players, they’re the greats.” She nodded. “Then there’s me.”
“You know you can’t have imposter’s syndrome if you actually deserve your position.”
I cocked a brow. “I can’t?”
“Nope, it’s illegal.” She grinned, and I snorted.
“Oh, right.”
“You deserve all the opportunities you’ve been getting. You’ve worked hard and proven yourself. You might not see it, but you’re a leader on this team.”
I smiled, accepting the compliment, but it wasn’t this team I was worried about. This was my family. I put my heart and soul into this organization, and they reciprocated.
It was taking on a whole new team and having to create and maintain good chemistry with less time together than we had for the Olympics.
At least most of those guys would be there again. Almost all of them were invited to this tournament, but I’d be playing against half of them on the East Coast team.
“It will be fun.”
“Are you stating that or trying to convince yourself?” she teased.
“Both.” I let out a small laugh. “It will be fun once I get there and have a chance to meet up with the guys and settle, it will be a good time.”
“Exactly.” She reached into her back pocket. “Derek asked me to give you this.”
She handed me a folded piece of paper, and I opened it enough to see a few paragraphs of his handwriting. “He wrote me a love letter?”
She laughed. "Apparently."
“He does know how to email or text, right?”
She swatted my arm. “He’s being thoughtful—let it happen.”
“Have you read this?”
“No, he made me promise not to peek.”
I scanned the first line and shook my head. “He’s going to be in DC, with us. He could just talk to me then.”
“Not for a few days.” She took a step back. “You can tease him all you want when you see him. I’ve done my part.” She turned and headed back down the hall. “I’ll see you on the plane.”
I waited until she turned a corner before smoothing out the sheet and reading it over.
Henson,
If I know you, and I do, you’re freaking out right now.
Don’t. You were picked to be my backup for a reason.
You were the best choice. You were selected for the Olympic team because you were the best our nation had to offer.
Now, you’re representing the Western Conference because, once again, you’re the best goalie in the league.
Stop doubting yourself. I can hear you from here. At home. Which is pretty far from your house and the arena, so seriously, shut up.
I told you I had a tough time meshing with the team when I first arrived.
It took Amelia warming up to me for the guys to let me in.
You don’t have a wife, or even a girlfriend, to use to win people over, so I’ll let you borrow mine for the tournament.
But only to make friends. Everyone loves her, so she can put in a good word for you.
No. Don’t do that. You can’t wait for her to help you win over your teammates. You don’t have that kind of time.
So seriously, if you’re going to continue to take my rightful place at huge events like these, you better step up. Be the glue.
Teams look to their goalie to gauge a game. If you’re nervous, they are. If you suck, they do. If you get in your head, so do they. You win, they win. You block shots, they make them.
Get it?
Good, now here’s what you’re going to do…
I shook my head when I finished reading and folded the paper back up before shoving it into my duffle bag.
He was losing it in his retirement. He had too much time on his hands and needed an outlet away from hockey. I should recommend some hobbies, like pottery or needlepoint.
I’d become immune to his teasing over the years, but saying I’m taking his spots made me laugh, like I’m sure it was intended.
From time to time, when he was more bored than normal, he’d show up to our practice rink, geared up, and pretend like he never left. He’d be on the ice, blocking shots with the guys, and the coaches let it happen.
I think we all felt a little bad for him.
The injury that ended his career had been devastating and gruesome.
Before then, I hadn’t been aware the human body could turn so many shades of purple and green.
His knee was destroyed after a player from Boston landed on him behind the blue.
It hadn’t just been a dislocation or sprain.
It shattered the bones and tendons. Decimated them.
The perfectly wrong angle met the perfectly wrong amount of pressure and force.
One moment, he was in his prime, and the next, I was on the ice finishing out the last two periods.
Having your career end with zero warning was every player’s worst nightmare. Watching it happen to your mentor and friend was almost as bad.
So when he felt the urge to heckle me, I didn’t fight back.
Even though he was retired and getting weirder by the day, he still had some wisdom to share, and apparently, I had a few errands to run before we left.