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But why does any of that matter? I don’t need to tell Ed. His opinion in any of this doesn’t matter.
The flight home gives me hours to reconcile what my brain wants, what my heart wants, and what I know to be the reality of this situation
There’s a good possibility I’m going to be doing this on my own, though, with or without Leo’s help.
PERIOD 2
CHAPTER11
KICK SHOT
LEO
An illegal shot where the player kicks the blade of his stick as it carries the puck.
Game 56 – Phoenix Coyotes
Gila River Arena
Two weeks later
My boys knowwhen I’m hurt or tired and when I’m truly pissed off and dangerous on the ice. Remy and Travis know when I don’t want to be bothered. Mase protects me when I’m like that. They can read my body language and the subtle ways I display it. They see it in my eyes and the way I play. We’re on a thirteen-day road trip, play five games in five different cities, and we’ve been to two countries.
Needless to say, I’m fucking moody for sure. I’m sure you can guess why.
Mase and Remy don’t say anything about what happened in Cabo. They won’t because it’s not their place to say anything. And they probably don’t want in the middle of my bullshit.
Travis, well, he isn’t so subtle at times.
“Get your fuckin’ head in it, bud,” he says, knowing I’m not quite fast enough against the boards and give the puck up again.
And then, when we’re on the bench between shifts, he has the nerve to say, “Katie said Callie got knocked up.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I refuse to even look in his direction and keep my stare on the ice, my mood showing in the clench of my jaw.
“What?” By the pitch of his voice, he sounds confused and stares at me. “Why?”
“Just shut up.” Still refusing to look at him, I scoot down the bench when the next shift bails over the boards.
“You’re a fuckin’ joke, man,” Travis says, more than likely upset I’m telling him to shut up and not dishing the details. “You talk shit and get in our goddamn faces all the time. And now look at you, getting all hung up on her. Fuckin’ pussy.”
I take the end of my stick and shove it in his ribs. “I said shut the fuck up!”
Coach smacks the back of my helmet. “Knock it off, boys.”
When our shift is up, I’m glad he’s playing on another line tonight.
Truth be told, tonight has nothing to do with Travis. Or Callie. Ineverplay well against the Coyotes. I’m not sure why that is.
Remy has the puck center ice and sends it sailing toward me. I snag it and then give it away along the boards. Same shit all night.
“I was trying to get you to pass it,” I tell Mase, panting when we sit down on the bench after our shift.
Mase nods, squirting a string of water into his mouth and then spitting it back out onto the floor. “A lot of game left. Let’s go, boys,” he yells, nodding. “Work ’em low.”
Drew sits beside him, pointing at the ice. They talk, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Mase and Drew Keith, our defenseman who replaced Dave last season, have been struggling partners lately. Pretty much as of the last few games. I’m not sure why, but they are off and know it. Neither can place the change. It happens.