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Ten Years Ago

Jordan

There’s a strange battle happening in the locker room. The smell of cleaning supplies mixes with Axe body spray and sweat, the latter definitely prevailing. I drop my bag by the bench and take a seat, looking around the mostly empty room.

It’s my first day at training camp with the Grand Marquee Manticores but instead of feeling happy and proud of all my accomplishments so far, I feel … anxious. Like there’s something lurking just around the corner, ready to bring me my downfall.

My phone pings with a text and I take a deep breath, hoping that can will my anxiety away. You got this. Everything will be just fine.

Kick ass, baby brother.

I smile at the text from my sister, Tangela, and feel myself relaxing. My shoulders drop from my ears and I roll away the crick in my neck. This always helps. Something or someone familiar to ground me when I feel my world is going to shit.

I’ve always been this walking, talking contradiction.

I enjoy my solitude and crave the quiet moments when I’m at home, but I also desperately want to be surrounded by people.

I want to go out and make friends, but I dread everything that comes before that.

All the awkward conversations and small talk.

I mean, who gives a shit about the weather? It’s Michigan, we get six months of winter, get over it . And then there’s the Midwest niceness of How are ya? and Ope, not too bad, how ‘bout yourself? Sometimes, I’d rather hit my head against a brick wall than have to talk to people.

“Hey, how’s it going?” a deep gravelly voice says, and I look up from my phone.

See, pointless small talk.

I already dread being here—not because I hate Traverse City or Michigan, which has always been home to me, but because my anxiety is holding hands with my introverted side and I’m just a walking mess.

I clear my throat and say, “Good, you?”

The six foot five man in front of me is dripping in sweat. He nods his reply at me and moves to take off his equipment. More players trickle in, wearing their full gear, and I start to panic.

Am I supposed to go to a different locker room?

Did I miss something on the schedule?

Am I late?

A bead of sweat drips in my eye and my hand shakes as I reach down to grab my backpack and hightail it out of the room.

“You’re one of the rookies, right?” the same guy asks, and takes a seat next to me.

“Um, yeah. I’m Jordan,” I say, voice a little shaky. “Hill,” I add, knowing that in hockey, a player is usually recognized by his last name rather than his first.

“First day?” he asks and as much as I hate eye contact, I force myself to be normal and make proper conversation. His green eyes are bright, and laser focused on me with so much intensity that I scoot back on the bench a little.

“Yeah,” I say, and all but gulp. This dude is huge and hella intimidating.

“I’m Alex Dionis,” he says and reaches out a large hand for me to shake.

I take it weakly and think the name sounds familiar.

Then I realize who this guy is. Not only did he go to my high school, but Dionis is the fucking captain of the Manticores.

My eyes widen and I try to compose myself.

What a poor first impression this must be.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

He pulls his hand back and there’s a small smile on his lips as he says, “Sir? What am I, forty?”

“No. I don’t know. You’re older than me, at least,” I say, flustered. Nice one Jordan. Very smooth.

“I’m twenty-six, man,” Alex complains, shaking his head at me.

“Did you just say he looks like he’s forty?” another guy asks, sitting down on the other side of me and flashing me a wide smile. His dark blond hair is damp with sweat, and he looks slightly familiar too.

“I didn’t?—“

“He sure acts like he’s forty. Alex basically lives and breathes hockey and then do you know what he does? He goes home and watches TV by himself, doesn’t come out to celebrate with the rest of us,” he says.

“Fuck off, Robbie .”

My head swivels back and forth between Alex and Robbie, who I now recognize as Robbie Elliot, another guy that went to my school.

“I know he’s not actually forty. We all went to high school together, I was a couple years behind you both. I only made the team after you guys graduated.”

“Sick, what a small world,” Robbie says and presents me a fist. I bump it with a smile that might look more like a grimace, but if he’s bothered by my social awkwardness he doesn’t let it show.

The two of them continue to take off their gear and after a solid minute of silence I say, “Am I in the wrong locker room? My email said to come in at ten, but not much more.”

“You didn’t get the full schedule for the week?”

I blink at Alex, more panic gripping at me, making me feel dizzy. “Um, no. I don’t think so.”

“They probably forgot to attach it,” he says, unbothered. “I’ll take you to meet the coach, and he’ll sort it out.”

“Cool, thanks,” I say, getting up and throwing my bag over my shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing later, Jordan?” Robbie asks and for a moment I’m stunned. Is he asking because he wants to hang out or is he just making conversation?

“Nothing.”

“Well, you are now. I’m staying at my parents’ cabin and we’re gonna have a bonfire tonight. Alex will be there too. You should join us. We can reminisce about high school.”

I’m not sure what there is to reminisce about since high school was not that long ago, but maybe I need to socialize. Especially with teammates.

“That’d be cool.”

“See you then,” he says with a huge smile that reaches his eyes.