Page 24

24

HARRISON

Landon looks after our travel arrangements, hotels, and meals all year long, but during the playoffs it’s even more important that everything is taken care of for us. We’re super spoiled arriving in Vancouver, being whisked to our hotel and checked in and not having to worry about bags or gear or lost reservations.

It’s also great that we’re in the same time zone. It can really mess you up, flying across the country and having to deal with a two- or three-hour time difference.

Our bus takes us to the Rogers Arena for a practice, then back to the hotel. A bunch of us go out for a walk before the team dinner. From our hotel, we can walk to Gastown. The weather is cool and damp, the area is bustling with people. We pass bars and restaurants and funky shops, meander the brick pavement of Maple Tree Square past the statue of the man this neighborhood is named for, “Gassy Jack” Deighton, and move on to the famous clock.

I don’t really hear what the guys are yammering about as we walk to the restaurant we’re meeting at for dinner, Boucher. The restaurant is kind of industrial-chic, with low lights, lots of brick, and exposed ducts. It seems appropriate to order the salmon, even though I’m not hungry at all, a cold lump amassing in my stomach.

I force myself to eat some of the salmon. I’m only drinking water tonight, and the waiter keeps refilling my glass as I guzzle it down.

Everyone’s finished dinner and chilling when my phone vibrates. I pull it out to check it. I have a text. From Arya.

Finally.

My heart bumps in my chest. I stare at my phone, then tap the icon for the message.

It’s long. My eyes skim over it and I force myself to slow down and read it all from the beginning.

Hi Harrison. I got your voice mails. I don’t want to bother you when you’re away and I know it’s a big game tomorrow but I wanted to let you know I got your voice mails and you don’t have to apologize. I’m okay and don’t let what happened with us interfere with the playoffs. I watched the win last night, congrats. I’ll be cheering for you tomorrow. I know things worked out for the best with us. What happened to me was terrible and I’m working on getting past it but I know it’s a lot for other people to deal with. I understand. Going out with you was scary for me, because you’re the first guy I’ve wanted to go out with since Lucas, but I wanted to be brave and take the risk. I’ve learned that fear means I’m doing something that matters, and even though things didn’t work out, I know I’m stronger because of it. So thank you and good luck.

I read it again. And again.

“Harry’s picking up the tab for all of us tonight.”

My head snaps up to stare at Bergie. “What?”

He grins. “What the hell, man? Pay attention.”

“Sorry. Just got a text.”

“Ah. The future wife.”

I haven’t said anything about what happened, because it’s embarrassing that I’m such an idiot, plus I know Arya wouldn’t want me telling the guys about her stalker.

Going out with me was scary for her, but she wanted to take the risk.

My throat clogs up. And I hear my mom telling me, “Take a risk. Give it your all.”

Maybe I have been holding back. Maybe I have been afraid. If I never measure up, I don’t want it to be because I didn’t try.

I want to be as strong and brave as Arya.

She left her family and her hometown and a job she enjoyed, to move across the country so she could feel safe. She started a new career, made new friends. That’s gutsy.

I remember how nervous she was when I invited her for a drink... how upset she was when I made that stupid comment about us being meant to be together, how apprehensive she was when she wanted to take an Uber home instead of telling me her address. Like she thought I’d be pissed off.

Jesus Christ.

Yet she kept seeing me, even though I was being an idiot. Now, knowing what happened to her, I admire that so goddamn much. It swells up inside me, a hot and powerful force that makes my heart expand in my chest. I love her even more.

“Must have been a good text,” Jabber says.

“Was it a sext?” Scotty asks. “Did she send a dirty picture?”

I roll my eyes. “Jesus. No.”

This text message was clearly meant to end things between us, and to end things between us on a friendly note. No hard feelings. Ha. She has no idea. I’m wrecked over this.

I don’t want things to end between us. But clearly, pushing her harder isn’t going to be the right thing to do. So... I’ll give her up, if that’s what best for her. If she needs time, I’ll back off. If she needs to be left alone, I’ll do it. I just want her to have what she needs and to be happy and safe.

But... there are a couple of lines in her text that bug me... I know it’s a lot for other people to deal with. I understand.

She should be pissed at me for bailing because I couldn’t deal with it. Because I couldn’t deal with my own guilt, which doesn’t even matter in the face of what she’s been through. I should have been there for her when she spilled her guts to me, and I ran away like a stupid kid. And now I’m a thousand miles away, and I can’t get to her. I’ve got a game to play tomorrow and I need to be here for it. Not just here , present. All in.

Right now, I feel like the only thing that matters is setting things straight between Arya and me. But it also matters that I prove I’m not afraid. And now it’s not about showing my dad I can do it, or my mom, or even Arya—although I want her to be proud of me.

It’s about proving it to myself.

* * *

The score is tied, two–all. One of those goals is mine, and I assisted on Eddie’s. I fucking love playing on this line with him and Pavel. We’ve really clicked and our styles complement each other. Adrenaline courses through my veins where I sit on the bench watching the play as the third period comes to a close. Christ, looks like we’re going into OT.

We all jump to our feet as Jimmy and Archie go in on the Canucks’ net. There’s a bunch of whacking and smacking, but the whistle blows as their goalie covers the puck. I hop over the boards for a line change along with Eddie and Pavel.

Eddie takes the face-off but loses the puck to their center, who flicks it over to his winger, and they’re off up the ice. We race after them, Bellsy and Jabber defending. Bergie’s alert, standing tall in goal as a Canuck player skates toward him. The Canuck player tries to shoot the puck, but Bellsy tips it away from him, except another Canuck is there and pokes at it. I see it squeak through Bergie’s legs and behind him.

Shit!

I don’t know if the puck has enough momentum to cross the line, but I’m not taking that chance, so I dive for it, my stick outstretched, and sweep it away only an inch from the goal line as I slide on my belly. My shoulder and hip smash into the post, but I don’t even care. I’ve gotta get back up and make sure the Canucks don’t have the puck again.

Just as I’m on my feet, my body throbbing, the horn sounds to end the third period. The guys are mobbing me, slapping my back and my helmet in thanks for saving that goal.

“That woulda been the game!” Bellsy cries. “Holy fuck!”

I make it off the ice and into the dressing room. Teddy checks out my shoulder and hip. I think I’m okay, just bruised. He gets me ice packs and, with my jersey off, I stretch my legs out in front of me, grinning like a fool even though we haven’t won. Yet.

* * *

We play a whole period of overtime with no scoring. We’re dying. The winner will be the team that doesn’t literally die on the ice. Both teams are playing great, both goalies are like goddamn brick walls.

Now we’re into the second OT period. We have to finish this. My legs are seizing up, my shoulder is stiffening, but I keep going. We have to fucking do this.

Bellsy has the puck at the blue line and takes a shot at the net. There’s a crowd in front, and somehow the puck is deflected to the corner. Pavel goes in and scoops it out as Eddie and I both go to the net. I look up at Pavel. He’s looking at Eddie, and so is the Canucks’ goalie, but I know... somehow I fucking know ... that puck is coming to me. In perfect timing and reading, Pavel slides the puck over to me and I tip it in as the Vancouver goalie watches Eddie.

I’m fucking jumping up and down, stick in the air, laughing. “Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” I’m immediately mobbed, the entire team coming off the bench. We just won the series.

“Fuck, yeah!” Eddie yells near my ear.

Guys are jumping on each other, hugging, smacking each other. It’s nuts, but holy fucking shit it feels good.

The Canucks are sitting on their bench dejectedly, others leaning on the boards, heads down, shoulders slumped. Dave and Stan and Teddy are shaking hands and hugging behind our bench. Eventually we slow our celebration—you’d think we just won the cup!—and start back toward our bench. We have to do the handshake line, and I gotta say, it feels a lot better doing it when you’ve just won the series. But we’ve all been trained from the moment we put on skates that good sportsmanship is paramount, and we shake hands and hug and thank our opponents for a hard-fought series.

I see Théo come onto the ice. He was watching the game from the visiting manager’s box high above... with Dad.

And there’s Dad behind him.

I don’t think he should come on the ice in street shoes. He seems frailer these days. So I skate straight to him before he’s taken three steps. I open my arms. A smile breaks across his lined face and we hug. “You did it, son.” He slaps my back. “You goddamn did it.”

“I did.” I grin too. I might never stop grinning.

Okay, I do have other problems lurking at the back of my brain. But right now, I’m smiling.

“You worked your ass off out there.” Dad grips my shoulder. “That’s determination.”

I nod, choking up. I’m not the only one who’s emotional. Dad’s eyes are watery and so are most of the players’, to be honest.

I stay beside Dad as he joins in the handshake line, making sure he stays upright, though I’m trying to be discreet about it so as not to embarrass him. My chest is bursting with pride that I had a role in getting this team to the next round of the playoffs. I’m also feeling relief and satisfaction.

I fucking did it.