Page 27 of Replay (Toronto Blaze #3)

Maybe You Should Listen to Her

Josh

Our next home game, the fans were subdued.

Coach came into the locker room before we went out, reminded us that this was our place and we could win this game.

Cooper promised a reward for whoever scored the winning goal, or for Petey and Mitch, our goalies, if we got a shutout.

Knowing Cooper, it would be something good.

We didn’t go out there bursting with confidence, but we were determined. Like when we didn’t want to get up for an early practice but powered through it so we could have a nap. Or something.

We scored two in the first, Montreal scoring one, and the mood was shifting in the arena and the locker room.

Second period, they tied it up but we managed a goal at the beginning of the third.

With two minutes left, it looked like we’d hold on to a win, but they scored on a breakaway a minute before the buzzer.

Overtime, we were a mess and they won.

Coach came in, looked at us and just shrugged before he turned and left.

“What the fuck?” Royster asked.

I shrugged. “What fuck are you asking about? That game? Coach? Us?”

“All of it. What the fuck is our problem? We’re better than this. We know it because most of us were here last year, and we almost won it all. We can do it in practice, but this season? Make it a game and we fuck up all the fucking time.”

He was right.

Cooper scrubbed a hand over his face. “Management wants all of us to talk to some sports psychologists they’re bringing in.”

Royster protested. “They had us do that after last season.”

He shrugged. “The problem has to be in our heads. You’re right—we have the skill, we can play in practice, and we killed it on the ice last season. So it’s in our heads.”

“Sorry.” Mitchell hadn’t played but he looked as defeated as any of us on the ice.

“No way, Mitch. That wasn’t all on you.”

Players chimed in, the ones who’d been on the ice that last shift, taking the blame. We all felt it. Like, if just one of the shots I’d missed had gone in…

Mitchell still was carrying that burden. So was Cooper. And Crash, JJ and Petey—we all would give our left nut to get that game as a do-over. But that wasn’t how life went.

I hadn’t scored or assisted in the game tonight, so I missed the press interviews.

I felt sorry for the guys who did—it was more a punishment than anything else with the way this season was going.

I was glad Cooper had found someone to be serious about over the summer because he carried most of the burden as captain, and he needed something to go right for him.

His girl knew nothing about hockey, so it was probably a relief to leave it all at the rink.

And me, I got to see Katie now, when our schedules synced up. I didn’t know how I’d lucked out finding her again, but she was my happy place, since hockey was majorly sucking.

* * *

I wasn’t excited about seeing a shrink, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt. When my appointment came up, I went in to practice early and knocked on the door of the office they’d given the doc.

A middle-aged Black woman sat across the desk and invited me to sit down. There was no couch to lie on, since this was a spare office and kind of pokey. Just the desk, her on one side, and an empty chair on the other.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Rogers.”

I sat in the chair. “Uh, hi. I’m Josh Middleton.”

She glanced down at the paper in front of her. “Thank you for coming in, Josh. You know why you’re here?”

“Because we suck.” Her eyebrows lifted. “I mean, we’re not playing well.”

A faint smile crossed her face. “I understood what you meant. You believe I’m here to help the team play better?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, yeah. They didn’t have anyone come in last year when we were playing good.”

She rested her forearms on the desk. “There’s a difference in play this season?”

“You must know that.”

She tilted her head. “The team record is different, but are you playing differently?”

I frowned. The difference in our play was the reason for the difference in the results. “It’s almost all the same players, but we’re playing like sh—crap. We’re okay in practice, but we’re terrible in a game.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“We’re spooked, after last season. The last game.”

She nodded. “You’ve heard of the yips?”

“Yeah, it’s like that.” Perfect way to describe us.

“So do you believe the issue is more mental or physical?”

“Mental. Obviously.” She didn’t respond, so I kept going. “We can play in practice, so we have the skills, we’re in condition, we know what we need to do. We just can’t execute when we’re in a game.”

She stared at me for a moment and I fidgeted. “Do you feel responsible?”

I splayed out my hands. “For last season, or this one?” She waited again. “We all feel responsible for both. Except for Fitch, and probably Petey.”

“Who are they?”

“Oh, Fitch was traded in over the summer. He had nothing to do with last season and he’s playing solidly. Petey is our goalie. He wasn’t in net when we lost last year. He’s playing well this season, but he’s not getting a lot of support.”

“How are you responsible for last season?”

Hockey was a team sport, but it did depend on everyone doing their best. “I didn’t score. Like, if I’d scored in regulation in that last game, we wouldn’t have gone to overtime, JJ wouldn’t have slid into Petey, and Crash and Mitch wouldn’t have been on for that last shift.”

“Hmmm. Could all the players have that same concern, that they should have scored in regulation?”

“Maybe? Not the goalies, obviously. Some of the guys don’t score a lot, but any of us could have put the biscuit in the basket and that would have been it.”

She scribbled something down. “And your responsibility for this season?”

I chewed on my lip. “I dunno. I mean, I started out okay, but now I don’t know if I’m getting worse, or if it just seems like that since nothing is working?”

“Like the yips are catching?”

I considered. “Hockey is a team sport. You need the other guys for a team to succeed. So, I guess it could.”

“Is there someone who could have started this cycle?”

“I’m not blaming anyone!”

She shook her head. “It’s not a matter of blame. But if one person was affected, it could have spread. So, similarly, maybe there’s one person who could get over that insecurity, and it would expand to everyone else.”

“I suppose.” I looked over her shoulder at a blank wall.

Could it be that easy? If so, I wasn’t the person who could do it.

I’d been sure, back in Seattle. “I don’t think it’s one person.

I think it’s most of us. Maybe all of us.

We were a really tight group. The way teams are when they’re playing well. I think it’s all of us or none of us.”

“That’s an interesting perspective, Josh. Thank you for sharing it.”

I focused on her again. “Hey, I don’t really know. I’m just saying stuff.”

“You don’t have a lot of confidence in yourself?”

“I can play hockey, and I know that. But this other stuff, the stuff that’s in our heads? I don’t know that.”

“Do you think your teammates would understand that better?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“Why is that?”

“Some of them are really smart. I didn’t even go to college. I needed a tutor to get through high school math.”

She nodded slowly. “There are different kinds of intelligence, Josh. Not all are measured on standardized tests.”

“You sound like my tutor.”

“Would you say your tutor was smart?”

“Oh yeah. She’s brilliant.”

“Maybe you should listen to her.”

* * *

Katie

Josh’s team was not doing well. I sympathized, because I was also struggling with my research project. I was so frustrated with my advisor.

He nitpicked at my proposal, but when I asked for ways to improve he was vague and told me that it was my job to figure it out.

Some of my peers were getting into their research projects, and I couldn’t even get approval on my topic.

He was dismissive, and though there wasn’t anything I could clearly identify, I definitely felt he’d be happier with a male student.

I dreamed of a scenario where I had a guy present the same project just to see what kind of response he would get, but it was complicated and not something I knew how to do.

He also had an attitude I was becoming too familiar with. Pure mathematics, that was the ultimate. Applied math, like the finance stuff my project dealt with? Next best. Math education? Only for those who couldn’t handle the other two. I felt myself getting further behind and it was so frustrating.

Mom and Dad had diverted money from Nora’s education account to mine, since Nora was only going part-time now and I was on the PhD track.

They wanted us to be free to concentrate on our studies instead of working, so the only job I’d ever had was tutoring.

It was great experience for teaching and helping the students I was responsible for now, but if I dragged out this program, the money would be gone and I’d have to take loans or get a job or both.

I wasn’t sure there were enough steady tutoring gigs.

I frowned at my laptop, email open. I could make an official complaint.

I’d drafted a letter detailing all the problems I’d encountered.

I just had to add the address for the chair of the department.

But could I really do that? What repercussions might follow?

Was it even possible for me to graduate with the way he was behaving?

Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Nora dropped out when she had a eureka moment after getting pregnant—was this my moment of truth?

“Ms. Baker?”

I slammed my laptop shut as I looked up to the third-year student who was standing in front of my desk.

I shared this space with the other math TAs but had my own desk. We spent some office hours here, but normally I worked at the condo.

“How can I help you?”

Norman was one of the keener students, so I didn’t have a problem remembering his name. He showed up for every lecture and every lab, happy to ask and answer questions. He loved my math T-shirts, so that was a sign of good taste.

He was wearing a faded hoodie and khakis, backpack on his shoulder. His hair was falling down over his glasses and he fidgeted, looking over my shoulder then down at my desk, never quite settling.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, jerkily. “I heard that you know one of the hockey players? On the Blaze?”

I blinked. Not what I’d been expecting. “Yeah, I went to high school with Josh Middleton.”

“Ducky.”

I waited. Was this some kind of test, where I was supposed to prove I knew him? I wasn’t playing that game. It didn’t matter to our TA/student relationship if I was or not, and I had no desire to share my personal life.

“So, like, do you ever see him?”

“Norman, that’s not really any of your business.”

“I just wanted to get his autograph. I’ve got his jersey and hoped maybe if you knew him, you could do that?”

I liked Norman. But I didn’t owe him any favors.

I didn’t need to start a precedent with students coming to me to get autographs or pictures or any of the other things people asked Josh for.

And I had no intention of taking advantage of my friendship.

Did people do that? Maybe there was a reason Josh wanted me as a friend.

“Norman, I’m your TA. I’m happy to help you with anything you need in your coursework. However, my private life and my friends are not open to exploitation.”

His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I just thought, if you did know him, you wouldn’t mind helping out. I’d do you a favor too.”

“I appreciate the offer, but no.”

He turned away but stopped in the doorway. “But you do know him, right? Any chance he might come by?”

Not if I had anything to do with it. Jeepers. “I wouldn’t announce if any of my friends were coming to visit. Especially not if I felt people would take advantage of them.”

He almost bumped into my advisor, standing in the doorway. “What has that young man in such a tizzy?”

“He wanted me to do a favor for him.”

“An extension?”

Was there a way I could avoid explaining the details? “No.”

He stood, waiting.

I caved. “I know one of the hockey players in the city, and he wanted an autograph.”

There it was. The knowing look in his eyes. Like of course I was only here to connect with a hockey player.

“A close friend?”

“Not that close.” But my cheeks felt warm, and he was drawing his own conclusions. Taking this as confirmation of his own bias.

“I’m tied up in meetings tomorrow, so we’ll have to reschedule our get-together.”

Why couldn’t he have just emailed me? Then he wouldn’t have overheard Norman. “Fine,” I gritted out.

“Let me know anytime you’re ready.”

My hands were fisted in my lap. I’d been ready. I’d hoped he would finally approve my project.

He wandered off again.

I opened my laptop. I reread my email to the chair.

I didn’t want to be a complainer. People had to deal with adversity and learn to work through it. Sending this would say I couldn’t do it on my own. How would I explain that to my parents?

I left it in drafts. I’d just work harder.