Chapter 43
Chapter
Forty-Three
Hunter: I know you’re busy studying for finals and delivering food. I’m headed to Minneapolis with the team. Maybe we can touch base next week. Have a good weekend.
Natalie: Safe travels!
It’s been so long since I’ve traveled with the team, I’m out of practice. I’m cleared to hobble around in my boot, though, and leave the crutches at home, so that helps. Hopefully, the boot comes off after Christmas, and then I’ll start the intense phase of rehab.
Until then, I’m trying to get back into the team groove. It’s like a pair of skates that aren’t broken in yet—too tight, uncomfortable, and I’m always aware of them in the back of my mind.
But I adjust the brim of my Griffins Hockey cap and shuffle down the aisle of the plane. Ready or not, I’m traveling with the team to the University of Minnesota.
Most people assume that we have our own private plane. I wish. Only the football team gets to use the university’s jet, and that’s because there are so many of them. We fly commercial, like everyone else.
The guys offer fist bumps as I pass, but between my duffle bag and the boot, I can barely nod back. Sighing, I reach my seat and sink into it. I pop in my earbuds and close my eyes. I could use some quiet. It’s going to be a long weekend.
At a tap on my shoulder, I open my eyes. Mateo sits beside me, a wide grin on his face.
It’s not odd to be assigned a seat next to a teammate, but it’s just as likely that we’ll sit by someone we don’t know. I was hoping for a stranger who wanted to ignore me.
“Hey, man! Good to see you.” His dark eyes sparkle, and he runs a hand through his black curls.His nose is slightly crooked from a break his freshman year, and it gives his otherwise solemn face an approachable air.
Mateo is serious about hockey. I admired that about him, and we used to have that in common. As a junior, he’s a good pick for captain next year. Either him or Jonas. There’s an expectation that I will groom them for it, but since I’ve been riding the bench, that’s another thing I’ve neglected.
“Did you see the Bruins game last night?” Mateo asks, his face lighting up. He could talk about hockey all day.
I used to be the same way. Hockey is life, right? Until… it isn’t. How can it be my life if I can’t play? The game was on the TV in the background constantly. Now my stomach clenches every time I think about turning it on.
Especially not the Bruins. They were my team growing up, and I’ve played on that ice. I have so many memories of TD Garden, but most are tied to my dad. I’m not surprised that he hasn’t called to ask how I’m doing or how my classes are going. He’s never done that. But I haven’t even gotten a text wondering how my leg is healing. It’s been radio silence. We used to at least have hockey to talk about; now that’s gone, too.
I force a smile for Mateo. “Nah, I haven’t watched in a while.”
He blinks. He gives me the highlights, not realizing that every word is like a knife in my belly.
Being in the arena makes sweat break out along my hairline. A chill races up my spine. I take a deep breath to hold the panic at bay. The smell of the ice and the concessions stands fill my nose, but instead of making me hungry, my stomach lurches. It triggers a rush of memories.
My dad. My first goal. Winning the National Championship. Breaking my leg.
I’m so deep in my head, I can’t crawl out. I paced outside the locker room earlier, not ready to go in. Watching the guys put on equipment I can’t wear would have been unbearable.
A faint tremor races through my hands, and I clench them into fists. Riding the bench and observing the game when I want to be out there is excruciating. Impotence fills me and twists into anger.
Jonas makes a pass to Cooper, but the angle’s off and he misses it. The Gophers steal it, speeding down the ice. Evan rushes to guard Adam and the net, but he doesn’t get there in time. The hometown crowd cheers as the puck goes in.
It’s three to one now in the third period. I’m not sure we can come back. It’s possible, of course, but not with the way we’re playing.
I wince as Jonas, Evan, and Cooper hop back over the boards and take a seat. They grab drinks from their water bottles, and I gaze at the ice, trying to keep my face impassive. I don’t want them to see how bad it is. But they can read the scoreboard.
My hands itch to hold a stick, but I look down at the boot on my left foot and sigh. Is it healing okay in there? Am I stuck on the sidelines forever?
I came on this road trip to make a difference, to be a part of things. But all I can think about is my limitations. My jaw tight, my fingernails bite into my palms as the clock winds down and the score doesn’t change. I jolt in my seat when the final buzzer blares, and the Gophers pile up in a hug on center ice.
I don’t make eye contact with the guys as they file out. Disappointment oozes off them like B.O. What would I say? Head down, I shove my hands in my pockets and follow.
“What the hell, man?” Cooper, still dressed in his gear, confronts me outside the locker room.
Fluorescent bulbs buzz overhead, lighting the deserted concrete hallway. Frowning, he shoves my shoulder.
I step back. “What are you talking about? I’m sure you’re mad about that loss, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”
“I’m not mad about the game.” His voice is a low growl. “I’m mad that you were MIA.”
Bitter sarcasm laces my words. “What did you expect me to do? Skate out there with my cast?”
“Be in the locker room! Give a pep talk. Dole out advice. I thought we talked about this.” He shakes his head, sweaty hair flying around his face. “I could use some support.”
Disappointment claws at my chest, trying to get out. “Look, man. It wasn’t as easy as I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
I gesture around. “Being here. Remembering everything. All the good and the bad. It’s like all the sights and sounds brought it back, and I just didn’t know how to deal.”
At that, the anger slides off his face, and his eyes fill with compassion. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”
I stare at the floor. “I’m sorry. It was just—”
“No, I’m sorry. I was being selfish. Asking you to come back when you weren’t ready. Wanting your help to balance all the pressures of being captain.” He grabs my shoulder, and I look up. “Maybe focusing on the team would be good, though. You’d be so busy, you wouldn’t have time to wallow.”
This makes an odd kind of sense and sounds like the kind of advice Natalie would give. Which means it’s probably smart. So I swallow my pride and my doubts.
I smile. “Wallow? That’s a gross exaggeration. I barely dipped my toes in.”
My joke lightens the mood, and Cooper grins. “You wallowed like a pig in the mud. But I know you had things to say during the game. You saw stuff we could have worked on. You always do. That’s why you’re a great captain. And we want to hear it. You can still be a part of what we do on the ice, you know. Help make us better.”
He’s right. I said I’d come to participate, and my insecurities took the wheel today. But I’m not going to let the negative voices in my head ruin my time with the Griffins.
I shrug. “Okay.”
His eyes widen at my agreement, and he gapes at me. “Wait, what? Are you saying I might be right about something?”
I chuckle. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Oh, I’m telling everyone.” He bobs his brows, a cocky smirk on his face.
“Go get changed, you stink.” I shove him gently. “I’ll see you later.”
If my team succeeds while I’m off the ice, that might prove my dad right. I wasn’t contributing enough to matter, and the scouts should focus on other players. Like Cooper. He is putting on a master class about being captain, after all, and carrying the team.
But at the beginning of the season, I decided to stay. I didn’t sign with the Blackhawks because I wanted to be a Griffin one more year. It might not be what I expected, but I can still do that. For me this time.
The next day, I do all the team stuff. We hang out in the hotel, watching movies and playing video games. I go to the catered dinner with the guys and—although it requires some deep breaths—I enter the locker room before the game.
I’m not ready to wear my jersey but I represent the team in my hockey warm-ups. The athletic pants fit around the boot and the windbreaker keeps me the perfect temperature on the bench. It feels right to sport head-to-toe Griffins gear again. Even if I’m not on the ice, I still belong.
At Cooper’s urging, I give a tiny pep talk between periods. I don’t remember what I say, but the team cheers. I keep my eyes on the ice while they play, looking for anything I can offer to help.
And it works. The guys nod when I give suggestions, and then implement my ideas. Seeing them get better lights me up inside, almost as much as when I got to play. The victory that we earn? I’m a part of it. I can finally get my mind off myself and my issues when I focus on the team.
We mill around the gate, waiting for our plane. Across the sea of chairs, Coach Russell catches my eye and motions me over. I leave my duffle at Cooper’s feet and limp towards the seat Coach Bouchard just vacated.
“Thompson.” Coach grunts. This is a warm greeting from him.
I tip my cap to him and nod back. “Coach.”
“Good to see you back where you belong. You made a difference. Thanks for not giving up.”
I blink. He strung three sentences in a row. That might be a record.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry I was MIA for a bit. Won’t happen again.”
“Don’t quit the things that are important.”
With that, he looks down at the tablet in his hands and continues checking stats. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I hobble back over to Cooper and my luggage.
“What did Coach want?” he asks.
“To talk?” At least, I think that was his idea of a conversation. It’s possibly the longest I’ve ever had with him. He warns us every year that he saves his words for what matters.
“Whoa.”His eyes are wide with shock.
Yeah.
Cooper glances down at his phone and smiles like a lovesick fool. I shake my head at him.
“What?” he asks.
“The look on your face—Jasmine must have texted you.”
“Guilty.” He types something back, then pockets his phone. “But you do the same thing when you think about Natalie.”
My heart sinks, and I sit in the open seat next to him. “Nah, man, I think that’s over.”
“What?” He startles and his face slackens. “No way. Why do you say that?”
“We haven’t talked in days. I’d rather she have the guts to break up with me to my face instead of ghosting me, but I can take a hint.” I huff a sarcastic laugh. “I offered her my car. Maybe I came on too strong? But I just don’t think she’s into me.”
Cooper’s brow furrows. “I disagree. I saw you guys together, and she wasn’t faking. She’s as attached as you are.”
“Because you’re the expert on faking?” I give him a pointed look.
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I am. But think about it. She didn’t dump you or lie about your relationship to save her job. That says a lot. She shows up for you, even when she has a million things going on. She’s a keeper.”
“It’s just, like you said, she has a million things going on. Is thirty seconds for a text too much to ask?” It sounds selfish as the words leave my mouth, but I can’t help it. “It feels so one-sided right now.”
Cooper shrugs. “That happens sometimes.”
I blink. That’s not what I thought he’d say. I figured he’d take my side and tell me, yeah, it’s okay to want to spend time with my girlfriend, and I should go find one who can give me that.
But he keeps talking. “It’s not always fifty-fifty, you know? That’s not the goal.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Like once hockey starts, Jasmine is more flexible with her time and fits me in where she can. When she’s studying for a big test or working on a project in the lab, I give a little more. It’s my turn to take care of her. It’s not about being fair. We’re both one hundred percent invested in our relationship. That’s better than fifty-fifty any day.”
Is Natalie one hundred percent invested in us? I’m not sure. But Cooper’s right. So far, she’s proven it is worth finding out. I didn’t give up on hockey. I’m not ready to give up on Natalie, not if there’s a chance she wants to be with me.
“Give a little more right now, huh?”
“Yeah. She’s busy. Let things calm down and surprise her by doing something for her. What does she need most?”
His words spark an idea, and possibilities unfurl in my chest. Putting my fingers between my teeth, I let loose with a sharp whistle. It gets the team’s attention and I motion them over.
“Guys, I need your help.”