Page 9

8

Luke

I just finished heating up a shitty bowl of leftover pasta when my phone rings. It rattles against the marble counter, and I’m about to let it go to voicemail, assuming it’s my dad or brother. But when I glance down, I see a name I haven’t seen on my phone for a long time.

“Decker,” I answer, “uh, hey, man.”

“Luke fucking Holloway.” The voice of my old teammate, old friend, instantly takes me back to years ago. “I thought maybe you had changed your number.”

“Why would I have done that?”

He laughs. “Cause none of us have heard from you in years.”

I shut my mouth, unable to deny it. It’s been I don’t even know how long since I talked to Decker, or anyone. “Yeah, you know, life gets busy.” And by busy, I mean depressing.

“It’s all good, man. I get it. We all gotta do what we gotta do.” The ease in which he brushes off the way I completely removed myself from my past life is just like him. He’s always had an easy-going attitude, on and off the ice.

I open my mouth to ask him about the team, how things are going, but the words get stuck in my throat. Because I don’t want to know the answer. What if they’re doing great? What if they think this could be another season where they make a run for the cup, and I’m not there to do it with them? What if they’re flailing and everything is falling apart, and I’m not there to help fix it?

Either way, it’s not my life anymore. So, instead I ask, “How are you doing?” putting emphasis on you , hoping he gets the hint.

“Honestly, never been fucking better.” That makes one of us . “That’s why I wanted to call you, actually. Tasha and I are engaged.”

Fucking hell. “Congrats, man.” I don’t have to fake my enthusiasm. “Shocked she stuck around all these years waiting for you to finally do it.”

His chuckle is light, and it brightens something in my dim, dull apartment. “Me too. I’ve been ready for it, but you know, life is crazy. Trying to fit big things in during the off-season gets hard.”

“I remember.” I lean back on my barstool and stare at the kitchen cabinets. “It’s like fitting a year’s worth of moments into a handful of months.”

“Right? So anyways, we’re going to have an engagement party next year. Family and friends, in the city. Don’t ask me for further details than that. I’d have to ask Tasha before I just give out false info, and with the season, who knows if we’ll be done by April or if we make a run for it, maybe June.”

“Smart man.” I remember how Elle was during our wedding planning. With me being in season, she carried most of the load with it. Not that she didn’t like it that way, but to her credit, she made it really nice without any help from me.

“I’d really love it if you could make it,” he says earnestly. “I know the guys would love to see you, and wouldn’t you like a trip back to the city?”

I’m surprised by the invite. I’d think not talking to someone for three years would be enough to put me firmly in the “not invited” category. But Decker’s never been one to keep score like that. “It has been awhile.”

“Awesome, I’ll let Tasha know you’re in!” Guess he took that as my RSVP. “Do you want a plus one? You’re more than welcome to. I just—I didn’t know if you have anyone since you and Elle…”

I haven’t seen Decker since my divorce was finalized. To his credit, he tried calling shortly after it was publicized, but I was still firmly in isolation mode and wasn’t talking to anyone.

“No, I’m not. I’m good to ride solo.”

I can picture his shit-eating grin as he muses, “Gonna see Skywalker on the prowl then…I’m looking forward to that.”

I snort and shut him down. “There won’t be any prowling. Not at a wedding event. Too high a risk of finding a clinger.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs. “Enough about me, what have you been up to?”

No, please, let’s keep the conversation on him. But I know Decker, and he’ll want to know how I’m doing. He actually cares.

“I’m uh, I’m back in Michigan.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Happy being closer to your dad and brother again?”

“It’s nice,” I say. “Don’t see them often, but it’s good not having to hop on a plane when I do.”

He groans. “I fucking wish. That’s the life.”

No. Playing hockey is the life, and he’s still getting to live it.

“What are you doing now? Got a job like a normal person?” His question is light-hearted, but it sends a stabbing pain through my skull.

“I’m coaching now.” I rub the back of my neck. “Assistant coach for the women’s hockey team at Haulton University.”

He’s probably never heard of it, but his reaction is instant. “That’s great, man! I always knew you’d make a good coach.”

I huff.

“No, for real. I’m serious.”

“Why?” I never thought I would coach, even when I was playing. To be honest, I never really thought ahead to my future of what I would do when I was done playing hockey. It’s like my brain wouldn’t allow itself to even go there. Playing the sport was my everything . It’s all I ever wanted.

“Well for starters,” Decker says, “you know more about the sport than anyone else I know.”

I chuckle at that because clearly Decker hasn’t met my dad.

“And you were always the one to step up in the locker room in those crunch moments. You may never have worn the C on your jersey, but you carried that weight.”

Memories start to flood forward in a tidal wave. Moments in the locker room after warm ups and before the start of a tough game, when my teammates would get in their heads and start to psych themselves out. I knew we couldn’t enter a game with that kind of energy hanging over us. Then there were times in the playoffs, when we’d be down 3–0 in the round and heading into the fourth game when it was do or die. And I knew the guys needed that extra push, that extra motivation, that extra reminder that we deserved to be there. That we could do it. That we could win.

“Yeah…” I whisper. “I guess you’re right.”

Where did that person go? How have I drifted so far from who I used to be? Decker isn’t going to recognize the Luke he’ll see if I actually go to this engagement party.

That’s fucking embarrassing.

“I’ll have to come out to try to catch a game,” Decker says. “I’d love to see you in action. Will you send me the schedule when you get a chance?”

“Yeah, sure. Although I doubt you’ll be able to squeeze one in with your own schedule to worry about.” I may be out of the league now, but I’ll never forget how grueling the season is.

“I’ll make it work. Maybe some of the guys will wanna come, too. We can chat about it later.”

I let my forehead fall into my hand and close my eyes. “Sure, yeah, sounds good.”

“Hey, I gotta run, but it was good to talk to you, man. I’ll text you the details, and let me know if you need anything, alright?”

I infuse as much energy into my tone as I can. “Can’t wait. See you later.”

Shame crawls up my throat. I let all my relationships with my old teammates, my best friends, fall apart when I retired. I couldn’t stand that they were all still able to be doing what they love, what I love, and I couldn’t. It was unfair to them, but they all served as a reminder of the life I lost.

And it hurt to see how quickly I was replaced. How soon the team moved on, the league, the fans, the media. Everyone. I get it. I mean, it’s not like one player makes the whole team. But I just thought…I don’t know what I thought I guess. It’s how the sport goes.

Teammates get traded, injured, sent down to the AHL, or retire. Everyone’s replaceable. I guess I just never imagined myself being one of them until I was.

The sight of my untouched pasta turns my stomach, and I dump it in the garbage. I quickly change into shorts and a T-shirt, put my headphones on, and take off for a run.

I’ll run until I exhaust myself to the point where I stop thinking about the version of Luke that people turned to when they needed that little boost. The one who felt good doing it.

He died the moment I was wheeled off the ice.