29. Sean
The team and I take our time getting into our gear and onto the ice. It’s Saturday morning, and our warmup is slow. Usually Saturdays are pretty brutal, but after the game last night and the game tomorrow, we all know that Coach will take it easy on us.
Especially after we scored three goals.
I squirt some water into my mouth and toss the water bottle over to the equipment manager.
We’re on a winning streak, so I picture today being short and sweet. I want to make it home in time to spend some of my weekend with my family. Astrid and I talked about having another movie night, and I’d really like to make that happen.
So, when the coaches huddle up together and create some drills on their board, I’m shocked. I am even more surprised when Coach Tommy yells for us to split up the moment we take the ice. So much for an easy day. I guess playing to near perfection and winning isn’t enough for him. Coach Matt is tough, but Coach Tommy is worse. It’s like he expects perfection, and anything short of that is punishable.
So, we follow his directive and split up, preparing to face off and play well until he’s pleased enough to let us go watch game film for the rest of the day.
I sigh. I’m really too tired for this today.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Coach Tommy yells. He shouts every time a play goes wrong, making us switch up positions and fight for the puck until desperation takes over and we play full force.
It’s not until Cory slams Connor into the boards that Coach Matt steps in to override the choice.
Finally.
“Hit the showers, and then we’re watching film,” he yells. I slam the clipboard before marching over to Tommy.
I’m able to watch him pull Coach Tommy aside but can’t hear what is said as I skate off the ice and head to the showers with the rest of the guys.
It’s about time someone’s called him out on his bullshit.
“Yo, Sean. You see the news?” Dan asks. Closing his locker.
“What news?” I imagine it’s something about the opposing team’s star forward. Maybe he broke his hand and has to sit out the rest of the season.
“Catch,” Dan says, tossing me his phone.
Astrid, last name unknown, is seen at the Devils game last night wearing the jersey of the same man who dedicated the goal to her. Is it a love match? Or is she out for the money of the NHL’s newest superstar. Find out more…
“What the fuck?” I look up at Dan, half expecting him to say sike. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he takes his phone back and offers me a small, sad smile. He claps me on the shoulder before he steps past me towards the shower. “Sorry man. Thought it’d be better to hear it from me.”
I wait until he disappears around the corner to take out my phone. I search my name, and the article pops up immediately. But it’s worse than that. There’s several more. I swipe through them, taking time to look through the photographs. They posted as many pictures of Astrid as they could. Candid photos of her enjoying my game which should have been something I could hold onto with joy. Instead, it’s become a moment that they’ve ruined.
Social media isn’t better. The captions and comments are worse.
I click my phone screen off and shove it into my pocket as my hands shake with anger. They are calling her a gold-digger.
I shouldn’t have dedicated that goal to her. What was I thinking?
This isn’t fair to her. She deserves better than this. Coach’s words live in the back of my head. Maybe starting a relationship during the season was a bad idea. If I had waited until after the playoffs, that would have at least bought her time to adjust to living a bit in the spotlight.
I was wrong. So wrong. And I no longer know how to make things right.
I’ve let the whirlwind of fame engulf me. The tendrils of celebrity tightening around every aspect of my life, suffocating me, suffocating the relationship I was afraid to ruin.
The guilt intensifies, a new challenge emerges—one that threatens the delicate balance Ive tried to maintain. An article, venomous and unfounded, tarnishes Astrids reputation, labeling her a gold-digger, and I have let it happen.
The mere thought ignites a fiery rage within me.
The vivid memories of dedicating that goal to her now feel like a misguided decision. What is wrong with me? The medias scrutiny wasnt something she signed up for, and I cant shake the shame that clings to me.
She hasn’t texted me. I run a hand through my tangled, sweaty hair. What if she’s already seen this? What if she’s already mad at me? How can I ever convince her that I would take care of her, protect her, after all that has happened?
I grapple with the realization that I was wrong. The path I chose for us now seems laden with obstacles that threaten to tear us apart. Im lost, uncertain of how to make things right again. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, and I feel the gravity of my actions pulling me down.
The sounds of the showers quiet as the guys step out of the locker room.
Game footage. I shake my head. Even now, even off the ice, I’m too distracted to get things right.
This entire place, once a haven of teamwork and belonging, now feels like a suffocating space. The place I once cherished has morphed into a breeding ground for speculation and judgment. I cant escape the disapproving glances and hushed conversations that linger as I move to shower. The few guys that remain don’t say anything, but their silence says everything that I need to know.
I make it quick, shampooing my hair and scrubbing my skin raw. By the time I make it back to my locker and change into my sweats, the room is empty. I shove my damp feet into socks and slip into my tennis shoes as I jog towards the film room.
My phone buzzes incessantly with notifications in my pocket. A quick glance at the screen tells me that none of the messages are from the one person I wish would talk to me.
Fuck.
I take my seat with the rest of the guys and pray that this day will go quick. I need to get home. I need to see her, to talk to her in person.
I know that I can’t fix everything. And I can’t take away the constant barrage of media attention that she’ll likely receive if she chooses to stay with me. But maybe I can convince her to stay anyway.
The breakdown of footage doesn’t alleviate the multiplying turmoil within my chest. I hesitate before glancing at the screen, half-expecting another damning headline instead of the footage of our defense falling apart.
The reality of being under the public eye is stark, and I’m starting to think that it’s selfish to ask Astrid to handle the scrutiny.
I resolve to tell her, to explain everything, and to give her the chance to make her own choice. But I also vow to never let this sport become the reason for her unhappiness.
The doorto the house feels heavier than usual as I walk into the hallway. With a deep breath, I knock, bracing myself for the conversation that awaits.
Astrid is sitting on the couch, the tv playing but her eyes glued to her phone, her expression a mix of weariness and uncertainty. It pains me to see her like this, caught in the crossfire of my choices.
Hey, I manage, my voice carrying the weight of the situation.
Hey, she replies, startling when she sees me. She takes a steadying breath, her eyes already searching mine for answers.
I saw the article, I admit, the admission heavy with regret.
She sighs, her shoulders slumping. I knew something like that was coming. She chews on the inside of her cheek. “I just didn’t expect it to be that brutal.”
Im sorry, I offer, though the words feel inadequate in the face of the mess we find ourselves in.
The mess that I created.
She shakes her head, a sad smile playing on her full lips. It is not your fault.
But it is, I argue, my frustration surfacing. I shouldnt have brought you into this mess.
Astrid reaches out, her small hand resting on my arm in a gesture of comfort. Well figure this out, Sean. Together.
Her words spark tears in my eyes. She sounds so certain. A lump of guilt lodges itself in my throat.
The genuine kindness reflected in her eyes doesn’t lift the burden weighing on me, it doubles it. I’ve hurt her. I hate that youre dragged into this, I confess.
I knew what I was getting into, she reaches for my hand. Well weather this storm, and things will settle. Soon it will be yesterday’s news, right?
I nod, grateful for her unwavering support. Yet, a lingering doubt taints my optimism.
The path forward feels uncertain, and I grapple with the realization that my choices have consequences that extend beyond the rink. The question now isn’t whether Astrid and I can navigate this storm and emerge stronger on the other side.
The question now is, should she be put through this in the first place?