Page 20

20

HARRISON

The coaching staff has told everyone to take care of whatever family shit we need to deal with before the playoffs start so we aren’t distracted by it.

I can’t really take care of my family shit; nothing’s going to change Dad’s situation. That weighs heavy inside me, but I’m going to have to accept it and put it aside for now.

I’m also aware this isn’t a good time to be starting a relationship. It’s the playoffs. We need to win. I’m trying to earn a permanent place on the Condors’ roster. I’m trying to show my dad I can do this and make him proud of me... and he’s dying.

But I can’t stay away from Arya. From the moment I laid eyes on her, something drew me to her. And my family can eat rocks about the fact that she’s blond—it’s not that at all. It’s the softness that glows in her eyes, the joy that shines in her smile, the affection she showered on those puppies, the way she held my hand when things got tough at my parents’ place. The way she’s got big jock hockey players doing yoga. Maybe I’m crazy, but being with her makes me feel... stronger. Better. And I need to be my best right now.

Outside of practices, workouts, and team meetings, and her class schedule, we spend almost every moment together for the next few days.

We go for a bike ride and end up lying in the sand dunes near Venice Pier, staring at the ocean, letting the sun warm us, and talking about everything. She takes me to Leo’s Creamery for ice cream and I find my new favorite—dark-roast coffee and white chocolate. We lie in bed reading, and she’s amused that I’m reading a Kresley Cole book, one of her favorite authors. We discover other authors we both like. We go shopping and buy a deep fryer, then to Whole Foods for ingredients, and spend an evening trying to create deep-fried pizza. We have a few failures.

“It’s basically a Pizza Pop,” I say as we remove one golden-brown treat from the oil.

“A what?”

“A Pizza Pop. Oh right. That’s a Canadian thing.”

“Oh yeah! We had them in Winnipeg when we went there! I love Pizza Pops.” Then her face falls. “Damn. I thought we were creating something original.”

“We totally are. No Pizza Pop will rival our unique creation. Let’s see how it tastes.”

We dig in.

“This is the best one yet,” I proclaim.

“I agree. Great Pizza Pop.” She grins.

We do couples’ yoga. I have no idea what this even is, but Arya convinces me to try it.

We’re on my living room floor and she’s telling me we’re going to do Plank on Plank.

“You can do a plank, right?” she asks me.

I scoff. “Of course I can do a plank.” I get down on the floor into a straight-arm plank. Then she gets on top of me the other way, gripping my ankles, her ankles on my shoulders. I tighten my core even more to support her weight on top of me.

“See?” she says triumphantly. “Not even hard. Let’s try something else. Front Bird.”

“Whut?” When she’s off me, I lower myself to the floor and roll over to stare up at her.

“Yes, like that.” She nods. “Bend your legs.”

I do so, and she stands in front of me, positioning my bare feet against her pelvis. She reaches over to grip my hands.

“Okay.” She grins at me. “Ready?”

“Sure...”

“Lift me up with your feet.”

My eyes widen. “Okay.” I push at her hips and she stretches out above me, her body flat, straightening her arms. Following her lead, I straighten mine too, propping her up over me like she’s flying. “Holy shit.”

She laughs. “See? Front Bird.”

“This is awesome.” It strikes me that she has to trust me to let me do this, because I could easily drop her. “What happens if I grab your boobs?”

She starts laughing, and so do I, and that’s the end of that pose as we both collapse onto the floor, me making sure to cushion her fall.

“Let’s try that again and see if we can let go of our hands.”

I’m skeptical, but we do it, and goddamn if it doesn’t work. Slowly, she releases my hands and extends her arms to the side, then stretches them back, balancing on my feet. I keep my arms up in case I have to catch her, but wow, she’s got this. She’s so strong. Our eyes meet and we smile and focus on each other and on the pose, a connection drawing out between us. Fuck, she’s amazing.

We do a few other poses, which require that we hold onto each other and not let go or we’ll fall, and it’s pretty cool, the engagement and trust we have to have with each other. This feels... intimate. Being totally present in the moment. Trusting each other.

Her trusting me makes emotion blaze through my chest. I can’t even speak for a moment. This is what I’ve wanted.

“You okay?” She blinks at me, forehead furrowed.

“Yeah. Can you do a headstand?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

With a smile, she gets down on her knees and elbows. She interlaces her fingers, dips the top of her head to the mat, her hands cupping her head. She pushes her ass up into the air, which is spectacular, adjusts her position a little, then pulls her knees slowly to her chest.

“Holy crap,” I breathe, watching her balance on her head and elbows.

Her movements unhurried and sure, she straightens her legs, toes pointed toward the ceiling.

“Wow. You’re amazing.” I move to stand behind her.

When she parts her legs, I can’t resist. I slide my arms around her waist and pick her up, upside down. She lets out a little screech and smacks at my thighs. “What are you doing?”

I bury my face in her pussy, then slowly lower her to the floor, her head between my legs. She grabs the backs of my knees, laughing. I join her on the floor and we roll around together, kissing and laughing.

Then Ash walks in on us.

“Uh... sorry.” He stops in the opening to the living room.

“We’re just doing yoga,” I explain.

His eyebrows rise. “Suuuuure.” He waves a hand and heads to his office.

Arya’s flat on her back on the floor, still laughing. “Oh my God.”

I lean over her and smooch her lips again. “I’d rather be doing you.”

She laughs harder.

“Maybe we should do our couples’ yoga in the bedroom.”

“You like the couples’ yoga?”

“Are you kidding? I get to put my hands on you and put my face between your legs. What’s not to love?”

Late Monday night I leave her at her place, alone, and go home to my solitary bed so I can get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow night the playoffs start.

We ended up two points ahead of Vancouver, so we have home-ice advantage, and start the series at home Tuesday night. This is the first time I’ve ever played an NHL playoff game, although I’ve played in plenty of playoff games in the AHL. I’ve gotten advice from some of the veterans, and the team has a sports psychology consultant from UCLA working with us. He tells us that mental and emotional skills are just as important for the playoffs as physical skills.

There are vets like Jimmy, Olle, and Richie who have a lot of playoff experience, albeit years ago. There are brand-new guys like Eddie and Meals. And then there are guys like me, who have some experience with it, either in the NHL or AHL.

Brian knows we don’t want to sit through hour-long meetings talking about this stuff, so he gets us watching short video clips of experienced professional athletes talking about focus, dealing with pressure, and visualization. Even a pro golfer talks about each shot he takes being the most important thing in the world at that moment. We listen to guys talk about blocking out everything else and dealing with pressure by keeping things simple and remembering to breathe.

Breathing makes me think about Arya, and what I’ve learned from her, which increases my confidence that I can do this.

“Embrace the pressure,” Brian tells us. “Let your talent and your training come out. And don’t focus on the outcome of the game. Sounds like it doesn’t make sense, because you have to win. But you need to remember the process of the game, focusing on doing what it takes to win, not on the need to win.”

The team even has a playoff theme: “Now’s our time.” It’s on everything—banners in the dressing room, on the walls in the corridors, and in the motivational video the team put together for us.

I text Arya from my bedroom Thursday afternoon just before I leave for the arena. I’ve had my nap, I’m dressed in my suit, including my lucky Wolverine socks, sitting on my bed. Once I get to the arena, I’ll put my phone in my locker and won’t look at it again until after the game.

She texts me back.

Are you nervous?

Yeah. No. Excited. Okay yeah nervous.

I laugh out loud and rub my mouth. I feel like I’m electrified, buzzing with energy. I have to control that energy.

I’ll be there cheering you on.

Good.

You’ll be great. Remember—breathe.

Yep!

I want to say more. I wish she was here so I could feel her, wrap her in my arms and kiss her. I’d like to end the text convo with a love you, but it’s too soon for that. I just have to be patient. One thing at a time.

Okay I’m off. Have fun at the game.

Ash is in the living room. He too is heading to the game, also dressed in a suit and trying unsuccessfully to tie his tie. He makes a frustrated noise.

I smile and walk up to him. “Here.” I start the knot from fresh, twirling the silk fabric expertly and then snugging the knot up. “There you go.” I slap his shoulder.

He grins. “Thanks, man.”

“I’m out.” I start to move away.

“Hey.”

I stop and look at him.

“How’re you doing? Okay?”

“Yeah. Good.” I suck in a breath and nod.

He steps forward and gives me a bro hug. “Good luck.”

I hug him back. “I thought you were neutral.”

“I am.” He smirks. “Don’t tell anyone I’m cheering for my brother.”

The laughter eases some of my tension and I jog out to my SUV.

* * *

After the game, I’m sitting in the locker room, head down, sweaty, and exhausted, still wearing my pants and half my gear.

We lost.

The mood in the room has dimmed considerably from before the game, when the energy was high, spirits buoyant. And yet, I don’t feel as shitty as I would have expected.

“It’s game one,” Jimmy says. “We’ll figure out what went wrong and we’ll fix it for the next game.”

We all make noises of agreement.

“We got this,” Bellsy adds.

I already know my own mistakes. Fuck. I didn’t play my worst game ever, but it sure wasn’t my best either. A stupid turnover led to a goal that I’ll be kicking myself over for a long time. Except I’m not supposed to do that. Put it behind me. Learn from it. Look forward.

Yeah, all the clichéd advice and platitudes don’t actually help that much. It’s easy to say forget about it and move on; it’s not so easy to do.

There are no post-game drinks or parties tonight. We’ve done the media stuff, including answering tough questions from my own goddamn brother. At least his questions aren’t stupid, unlike that idiot from WXN who asked me why I turned over the puck to Vancouver’s leading scorer. What. The. Fuck. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying that out loud.

At home, I stretch out on my bed wearing my boxers and call Arya. Much as I want to see her, I know I need to stay away, stay focused. But we can talk.

Arya immediately says, “That was so good in the first period when you skated through all those guys! I thought for sure you were going to score.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t score, but it had been a good play.

“And then you and Edvin and Pavel... that face-off when Edvin scored... that was amazing!”

“We lost, you know,” I say dryly.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I thought it was a good game. Of course, what do I know?” She laughs softly. “But really, it could have gone either way.”

“True.”

Surprisingly, not rehashing everything that went wrong is making me feel better.

I talk about the pressure and how I thought I was doing okay with it, but it must have gotten to me. With Arya, I’m not afraid to tell her shit like this. I know she won’t laugh at me or think I’m weak. And she doesn’t try to give me advice, like everybody else in my family I talk to. She just listens and lets me know she gets how I’m feeling.

After we’re done talking, I set my phone on the bed and close my eyes. I focus on my breathing, just as Arya taught us, trying to empty my mind.

It’s hard. I want to relive the game. I want to relive sex with Arya. I want to think about the next game. But I try to push those thoughts aside.

* * *

We lose the next game too. This one really sucks. We played hard. We did all the right things. We scored four fucking goals. We can’t blame it one player, but we all know Bergie let in a couple of soft ones in the third period, and that did us in.

“We should have been better in front of him,” I tell the media when I’m asked about that. “That’s our job. We can’t play like that. We can control the mistakes we made and support him better.”

This one hurts more than the first game, because if we’re playing our best and we can’t win... never mind. Don’t finish that sentence. We can do this. Coach tells us and I know it’s true—we just have to keep playing our game. He reminds us of all the things we can’t control, that we have to focus on the things we can that will give us our best chance of success.

Now we’ve lost our home-ice advantage. We go to Vancouver for the next two games. We’re determined and trying to stay positive. It’s hard to ignore, though, that almost everyone is hurting in some way, and we’re all exhausted. But we know we can beat this team.

I’m sitting at home after the game. Ash is still out. I could call Arya, but I miss her and I want to see her. I know she’s home.

I sit and debate whether it’s a good idea for about ten seconds, reminding myself that we’re leaving in the morning for Vancouver. But I don’t want to wait until we get back to see her. I need to see her now .

Flushing my good judgment down the toilet, I grab my wallet and keys and jump into my vehicle. Arya’s place is only a few minutes away.

I pull up in front of the house. The light over the front door glows, and lights are on inside. Smiling, I jump out and stride up the sidewalk to the small yellow house.

I lean against the wall after I ring the doorbell, waiting. I get a little lost in thought, thinking about Arya, and then realize a minute has passed and she hasn’t answered the door. I ring the bell, again, frowning. I can hear it, so I know it’s working.

When there’s still no answer, I pull out my phone and text her.

Hey, answer your door.

After a few seconds, the little dots start jumping around and then her reply arrives.

What? Is that you?

Yeah.

A few seconds later, I see her peer through the small window and then slowly open the door.

“Hi!”

She stares at me.

My smile fades.

Her eyes and mouth are drawn tightly, eyelashes fluttering.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you. I wanted to see you. I just thought I’d drop by...” She’s decent, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, so it’s not that I’ve caught her naked, having a bath or something.

She presses a hand to her heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I gnaw on my bottom lip briefly. “I did?”

She closes her eyes, looking like she’s going to cry. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her jaw tightens and she opens her eyes to glare at me. My insides squeeze up.

“Why the hell did you come over here without telling me?” she demands.

I blink. I don’t move. “What?”

“You can’t do that!” she cries, shaking her head and frowning.

“Calm down.” I hold up my hands, palms out.

Her eyes widen.

Right, right. Telling women to calm down is the wrong thing to say. “I mean...” Frantically, I try to think of what to say. “Can we sit down and talk.”

“No!” She’s trembling now. “No, we can’t.”

“Arya, come on, I just stopped by to see you, it’s no big deal. If it’s not a good time?—”

“No, it’s not a good time.”

I gape at her. What the fuck? I didn’t do anything wrong! I dropped by to see her without calling ahead of time. That’s not crazy, when we’ve been seeing each other and sleeping together and... what the fuck ?

My belly churns with a toxic mess that burns its way up to my chest. “Okay,” I bite out. “ Fine .” I spin and walk back to my vehicle.