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13

Lennon

C oach Holloway is late. With every minute that ticks on the clock above the door, my annoyance grows stronger and stronger, until it boils my blood. I thought we had a moment, a breakthrough even, at our game last weekend. He seemed sincere when he said he was going to help me, but now he’s almost twenty minutes late.

My teeth ache from clenching them, and I decide to get started on my own. If I’m going to be up this early, I might as well make it worth it.

Even if he doesn’t show.

I grab a pair of dumbbells and adjust the weight bench into a seated position for shoulder presses. It faces the mirror so I can watch my form as I do a round of reps. It’s only been a few weeks of heavier conditioning, but there’s already more definition in my arms than before. My body feels stronger, and now I just need it to translate onto the ice.

Which would be nice if Coach was here to help with that…

How did he even get into coaching? Sweat begins to drip down the back of my neck under my thick hair as I start another round. He’s still in good shape, which I try not to pay attention to when he demonstrates new exercises for me to try. If I’m remembering correctly, he was injured and out for a season, but was it that serious that he never returned? Or maybe he didn’t want to go back?

The muscles in my arms shake as I push myself to do one, two, three more shoulder presses before dropping the weights to the floor with a heavy thud. I grab my phone from the pocket of my leggings and search Luke Holloway .

Those dark eyes of his immediately pop up and bore into my own through the screen. The look in them is so intense that I want to look away, but then remember I’m just looking at a photo of him online, and that’d be stupid.

I scroll down the search results, looking for anything related to the end of his career. It was big news in the hockey world at the time, but since he wasn’t fully on my radar not playing for my favorite team, none of the information stuck with me over the years. Now, though, I suddenly feel like I need to know everything.

There’s a headline that looks promising, so I click on it and begin reading. I gloss over the first few paragraphs, and when I get further down, there’s a video embedded into the article.

The moment that ended Luke “Skywalker” Holloway’s career.

I glance over at the door, but still no signs of life in the gym this early in the morning. With a click of my finger, the video loads, and I watch.

It looks like any regular game, the New York Flash going up against the St. Louis Arctic. Players whiz around the ice at dizzying speeds, and the commentators narrate the play as St. Louis breaks away into a two-on-one. Luke looks formidable in the crease, his pads bulking up his size and filling out the net.

One of the St. Louis players takes a shot, and Luke blocks it with ease, but it pulls him slightly out of the crease. The other player tries to grab the puck for a rebound, but he loses his edge and almost as if in slow motion, plows straight into Luke at a dizzying speed. The crowd sucks in a collective breath, watching as Luke takes the hard hit, and it sends him crashing to the ice.

Fists immediately start flying as Luke’s teammates swarm the net, ready to defend him. The camera zooms in on the action, and the crowd roars at the excitement.

It’s short-lived though, as realization hits that Luke isn’t getting up. The air in my lungs seize as the fight rages above his stiff body. The refs try to get it under control, but it isn’t until the camera is able to get a shot toward the ice that everyone seems to realize this is bigger than just defending the goalie.

Luke’s mask lies in the net, five feet away from where he lies motionless on his side. His body is jostled as players continue to fight above him, and he rolls onto his back in a sickening, lifeless shove. A ref blares his whistle as he fights his way through the scrum to crouch by Luke.

As it de-escalates and players are pulled away, it’s then that the pool of blood comes into view. The sight turns my stomach, and I hunch over, unable to look away. The camera zooms in on Luke and where the ref now holds his head in his hands, mouth moving rapidly, but none of the words are picked up on the video.

The announcer's original excitement of the fight has quickly cooled into solemn tones and frequent pauses as they watch the team doctors make their way onto the ice and carefully load him onto a stretcher. As they get him off the ice, the camera zooms in and?—

“You’re supposed to be working out.” The voice startles me as my stomach drops to the floor, and I look over my shoulder to find the man I was just watching bleed on the ice stand over me.

How did he enter so quietly that I never heard him? I was so enraptured by the video that I didn’t see him approaching in the mirror either.

“Sorry,” I sputter, quickly turning my phone off, but it’s a wasted effort. The look on his face shows that he knows what I was just watching. “You were late so I…” Words escape me, leaving me staring up at his formidable stature silently.

“So you what?” He crosses his arms, muscles flexing with the movement beneath the sleeves of his shirt. “Decided to do some research on me?”

A sticky feeling coats my skin as embarrassment heats my face. I feel like I got caught snooping, which I mean, I guess I sort of did. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

“There’s no privacy when it’s all online for anyone to see.” He cracks his neck side to side while his jaw remains clenched. “Did you get all my background history covered, or just that final game?” Sarcasm swirls with annoyance in his tone, and it curves my shoulders inward.

“I was just curious about why you’re not playing anymore. Why you’re here coaching.” I scratch the back of my heated neck. “You’re not that old and still in good shape, so I guess I was curious.”

“Did that satisfy your curiosity?” He glances toward the phone clutched tightly in my hand.

No. Not even the slightest. If anything, it brings more questions to my mind. What were his injuries? Did he try rehabbing and getting back on the ice? What happened after?

“Sort of. The hit looked pretty bad,” I hedge, waiting to see if he’ll shut me down.

He snorts and looks down at his shoes. “That would be an understatement.”

I pivot on the bench to face him, our toes almost touching now. “What happened?”

“You just watched the video. Did you already forget?” His retort slices me, and he immediately lets out a frustrated sigh. “Knee-jerk reaction. Not my favorite topic.”

“I understand.”

He takes a moment before he looks at me, and the pain in his eyes makes me regret even asking him. “My mask came off when I got hit initially. When I fell and first made contact with the ice, I hit right here.” He points to a spot on the bone between his right eyelid and eyebrow. It’s then that I notice the faint scar marring the skin there. “Had to have surgery and ended up losing the vision in the periphery of that eye. Also broke a couple ribs in the scuffle and had an ocular concussion. If you would’ve read further in the article, I’m sure that would’ve all been in there. Maybe even my failed comeback attempt, too,” he says bitterly.

“Fuck,” I murmur, shaking my head slightly as the full extent of his injuries processes through my already racing mind. My eyes soften as I look at him with a new lens.

Whatever he sees on my face has him straightening up, and he reinforces the walls he has right in front of me. “Don’t pity me.” The iciness in his tone sends chills down my spine. His dark eyes burn into my skin, and it pulls at something deep in my gut.

“I don’t,” I whisper. “I promise I don’t.” It’s not pity that I’m feeling right now. It’s…understanding.

Suddenly, his bitterness, his coldness, his disinterest, it all starts to make sense. What must that be like to have to quit the thing you love before you’re ready? To have that choice taken away at the hands of an injury?

I can’t even begin to imagine how devastating that would be, but looking at him standing in front of me, I’m starting to.