Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Brody
If for some reason, anyone would ever care enough to write a biography about me in the distant future, I knew that I was currently living through one of the most significant chapters.
It would go something like this.
In Callahan’s tenth year of his career, he was dealt some devastating blows.
Not only did he lose the love of his life (a feat which we can see he never truly recovered from) but he lost the love of the game along with it.
Around this time, things began to happen quickly, faster than the simple-minded Callahan could keep score of.
His game deteriorated, his reputation as one of the NHL’s best defenders was in jeopardy, and he was on the verge of running home crying to his childhood home in defeat.
A tragic fall from grace for the former golden boy of the NHL who naively believed he almost had it all.
A real page turner, huh?
Pathetic.
Even though I went out onto that ice and tried like hell to give it my all, I fell short. By a long shot.
The thing was, I’d never been very good at deception. It wasn’t in my nature. And it shook me to my core to be out there on the ice with my team and act as if my heart was entirely in something that I’d already mentally checked out of.
How could I care about a game when the entire trajectory of my life was changing course around me? I didn’t. Apparently, I couldn’t even pretend to.
“It’s okay, man,” One of my teammates said afterwards in the locker room, “we all have bad nights.”
“Bad nights?” Another one called out. “Callahan didn’t block a single fucking puck all night. Talk about a waste of a game.”
“Hey,” Liam boomed, “lay off. You’ve played like shit more than a few times during your career and we’ve never given you slack for it.”
“No.” I told Liam. “He’s right. It’s my fault.”
“No,” Liam countered. “He’s not. We’re a team, and we won’t be getting anywhere if we start degrading each other over mistakes we’ve already made.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I gritted out. “I know I fucked up.”
I fucked up with Maggie. I fucked up with the team. I fucked up my head by not knowing what the hell I was doing with my life anymore.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling utterly exhausted right down to the bone. Everything felt too much. Everything felt out of reach. I couldn’t make sense of this bizarre reality I found myself in. One where I played like shit, let everyone down, and didn’t have Maggie by my side.
“Fucking damn it,” I groaned, throwing my helmet to the floor and sinking down against the lockers.
Nobody said a word as it fell with a thud against the floor, echoing the sound of my misery for all to hear.
I couldn’t pretend anymore that I was keeping it together, because the truth was: I wasn’t. I forgot what keeping it together even looked like at this point.
“Hey,” one of my teammates said, rare tone of concern in his voice. “Callahan. It’s okay.”
“Yeah, man. Nicholson was just being a dick. Nobody blames you for tonight.”
“You should.” I said. “You all should. I have one fucking job and it’s to protect the net. And I couldn’t fucking do that right.”
“Woah, man.” One of the guy’s laughed uneasily. “Easy there. You’re starting to sound like Cap. All bitter and cynical like.”
“Yeah, Callahan. That’s not you. You’re like our… golden retriever hype man. You can’t go getting all pissy like the rest of us. You’re the one who keeps us all going with your annoyingly optimistic bullshit.”
I snorted.
“Yeah.” I agreed. “What a joke.”
“What about you?” I looked up almost confrontationally at Liam who was staring at me from across the locker room. “No pep talk telling me to get my act together and be the ‘old Brody’ again?”
“Nah, man.” Liam shook his head. “I’m not holding you to any bullshit standards. You’re allowed to feel whatever the hell you feel. Contrary to what you may believe—it’s not your job to keep everyone happy all the time.”
And whatever I’d been expecting from him, I realized that nothing else he could’ve said would’ve made me feel better than that.
I was the funny guy. The laid-back guy. The comic relief guy. And I loved being that guy. But damn, if it didn’t get exhausting after a while.
But after so long of playing that role, it was daunting almost, to let the act drop. To admit to everyone, Hey, I get pissed off too. I want to lose my shit sometimes, too, just like the rest of you. I’m not invincible.
Though if I were being honest, there was only one person in the world who made me feel like I was.
And she was gone.
I stormed out of the locker room in a rush, not caring that I hadn’t showered.
Not caring that I’d freaked out half the team by the newly emerged dark side of my personality.
Not caring that the Garden was still swamped with fans lurking around who would probably be less than thrilled to encounter me in the state I was in.
All I wanted was to get the hell out of here.
I exited through the players-only hallway leading to our parking garage. I knew there going to be fans behind the barricades hoping to get a photo or an autograph, and usually, I was the guy to do that.
But tonight? I guess I’d be the asshole in some kid’s memory because I fully planned on walking straight to my car, baseball cap pulled low, eyes directed down so I didn’t have to see the disappointment in anyone’s face when I passed them by.
But sometimes, life throws a wrench in your plans.
Or more specifically, Maggie Brynn did. At least in mine. Because of all the people calling out my last name, voices mixing together until they were indecipherable, I could pick hers out in a heartbeat.
“Brody,” she called, arguably softer than any other voice in the parking lot, but because it was her voice, it might as well have been the only thing I heard.
“Maggie.” I said, head snapping up to see if my delusional ass had really conjured up some fantasy of her.
But low and behold, there she stood in dim light of the parking garage, looking so slight next to the grown men beside her that it made my heart clench.
With my eyes locked on hers, I took a step in her direction, my body knowing instinctively that if Maggie was near, I had to get to her.
The people around her erupted, shoving and calling out my name as if I were coming to see them personally. In the chaos, Maggie got shuffled toward the back, much daintier than the drunken men who were fighting to get in front of each other.
“Hey,” I called out, pulse spiking as I watched Maggie get shoved to the rear. “Everyone back off.”
But my approach only made the crowd get rowdier, amping up with each step I took in their direction.
I dropped my duffel bag, hopping the barrier to get to Maggie who nearly took an elbow to the face in the process.
Hands reached out to me, shoving paper in my face, or phones to take pictures.
It was chaos, especially because I’d planted myself in the midst of it. But I didn’t have any other option.
“Everybody calm the fuck down,” I roared, “before you crush my girlfriend!”
I pushed through the crowd of people, finding her pushed back in the middle, fierce look on her face as she shoved back against the people who clearly didn’t have any fucking common sense as they mindlessly shoved any and every one in their path.
Jesus, I thought. All this for a picture with me?
Despite being in the center of a crowd of rowdy hockey fans, she wasn’t scared—though my heart was still threatening to give out—she was pissed as hell.
That’s my girl, I thought. A fighter till the end.
“I said, back the hell up.” I called, shoving a few out of the way myself until I got to her.
“Maggie,” I breathed, stepping in close until my body practically shielded her from the chaos around us. I reached out to grip her waist, steadying her on her feet. “Are you okay?”
She looked up at me in a daze, as if she couldn’t believe I was there in front of her.
I know the feeling, baby.
Without thinking, I cupped her face in my hands, giving her the once over for any damage. Finding none, I breathed out a sigh of relief, trying to force my heart to return to its normal rhythm.
“Brody,” she said my name again and I closed my eyes to savor the sound.
“You know,” I brushed my thumb against her cheek, “there’s easier ways of getting my attention besides getting crushed by hockey fans.”
“What can I say?” She said, sounding a little breathless herself. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics.”
I gave her a lopsided smile. “That you have.”
“Besides,” she cleared her throat. “You weren’t answering your phone and I—” she paused, chewing her lip as if she weren’t sure she wanted to finish the sentence.
“You what?” I said, gently, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her hair.
Miraculously, she let me, and I had to pull my hand back before I did something stupid like scoop her up in my arms and put her in my car, away from all these people.
“Callahan,” I still heard them call, and I turned swiftly to warn them off.
“I’m not taking any damned pictures tonight on account of my girlfriend almost getting run down by you all, so you can all go home.” I scowled, ejaculating my voice as loud as I could manage.
A few drunkenly staggered back, surprised by the vehemence in my tone, whereas some of the others had the decency to look a little ashamed.
Without listening to anything else, I pulled Maggie’s hand, taking her with me to the side of the parking garage where we could speak in relative privacy.
Some of the crowd staggered away, realizing I wasn’t going to sign their beer belly with permanent marker, while a few others lingered nearby, snapping photos on their phone from a distance.
I didn’t care. Let them take all the photos they wanted. But God help them if they got close to my girl again.
Not technically mine anymore, all things considered, but it didn’t matter—as far as I was concerned, Maggie Brynn would always be my girl.
Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.