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The upside to being on IR?
You aren’t required to be at the games.
Unlike when you’re an active member on the roster.
Aka… me.
“You sure you got this, Pecks?” Hesitation to leave the waiting room remains. “You sure this doesn’t fuck up your night?”
“Us losing ‘cause your ass wasn’t there would fuck up my night, aye,” he describes on a ruffling of his shaggy black hair. “Get to the barn. Help get us a dub. I’ve got shit covered here.” His 3P sweats covered frame flops into the nearest seat. “Trust me. I know how to handle hospitals. I’ve had plenty of hours in ‘em.”
I do my best to politely grin. “Appreesh.”
“Yeah.”
“Text me.”
“The second we know something.”
Neena suddenly strolls up from behind me to extend him a to-go cup. “One Ginger Gross hot chocolate for papi. ” She sassily slinks into the seat beside him. “One delicious pumpkin spice for me.”
“ Pumpkin gross ,” Peck promptly argues. “ Gingerbread great. ”
“Ginger gross,” her head feistily cocks to the side, “just like the cookies.”
“I like the cookies!”
“ Sí, sí , I know.” The cup soars towards her full, plump lips. “I’m basically the only good taste you have.”
Peck chortling at the chirp is the last thing I hear on my way out of the hospital.
Thankfully, the building isn’t too far from the stadium, and double thankfully, my gear bag’s already in the dry stall.
Set out.
Waiting for me to fucking throw it on.
Less thankfully, Coach, Cap, and the boys are so unbelievably pissed that no one bothers to speak to me.
Not during the entry.
Not post the anthem.
Not even on the first whistle.
While I’m not technically scratched for the night, I’m not exactly welcomed on the shifts.
My line – which includes Cap and Wahl – is rearranged to accommodate my absence – as though I don’t exist – and every time they hit the ice, the lump in my throat grows a little bigger.
Chokes me a little harder.
I continuously tighten my grip on my stick to keep my unmoved position beside Lyam Wheaton, our other goalie, knowing it’s a test.
Can I do what I’m told?
Can I do what’s best for the boys?
Can I surrender my need to show everyone in the stadium, everyone on the team, every team I’ve ever left why I’m fucking worth something?
Why I deserve to still be in this league versus lying in a hospital bed.
Breathing but unconscious.
Alone.
Abandoned.
Potato gets called for hooking right at the end of the first, putting us on the PK for the start of the second and pushing Cap over the edge for what I know is going to be a less than enjoyable break.
Particularly for me.
My ass hasn’t even touched my seat in the locker room when he grabs a fist full of my sweater like I weigh absolutely nothing. “ Where. The. Fuck. Were. You?! ”
“Seriously, Snowman,” Looferz sighs from the other side of the room, bucket being chucked in frustration. “You couldn’t tell whatever bunny to wait ‘til postgame and be on time for fucking gameday ?”
The man who always has my back, everyone’s back , tightens his hold. Noticeably. “ Were you fucking around? ” His volume lowers to just above a whisper. “ On your fucking Slayer?! ” He cranes his sweaty, pale face uncomfortably closer to mine. “ After all mine’s done for you?! ”
“ No. ” I hold his stare hostage to ensure there’s no question about my loyalty to Arden. “ I would rather never lace up another day in my life than hurt her. ”
One single nod of respect is offered.
I work too hard trying to keep her in my life to fuck it all away on some smash and pass.
Not to mention I actually bloody love her.
Though that is so not up for discussion tonight.
Or tomorrow.
Or really anytime this season since I’m quite certain she’d just fold our entire relationship.
Fuck, just getting her to admit we had one damn near took an act from The League.
“ Where, Frosky? ” Cap repeats, grip unwavering. “ Where. Were. You? ”
“The hospital.”
His brow instantly furrows. “ Why? ”
“Becks.” Just his name is enough to grant me my freedom. “He hit his head. He’s alive but unresponsive.”
“ Shit, ” mutters an eavesdropping player somewhere in the background.
“Pecks is with him now-”
“I was wondering where bro was,” Wahl comments, joining Cap’s side. “It ain’t exactly his style to miss a game.”
“Not without threat of bodily harm,” one of the Goonie Tunes chimes.
“Or benching,” the other comments.
“Unless a teammate needs him,” Cap sighs on a step back, removing his mouthpiece. “Just like you.”
“ Just like me, Cap. ”
He gives the side of his face an uncomfortable scratch, unhappily sighs, and extends his gloved fist to bump. “Ferda.”
“ Ferda. ”
His stumble away exposes me to Coach who sternly lifts his eyebrows into the air. “We got forty hard miles up fucking hill , Frosky. I expect you to make it snow.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Blanc nods and smacks his gum with a little more vigor. “Let’s get our shit together, boys!” An enthusiastic pound to his chest is given. “Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”
“ Ra! ”
Post a quick squirt from my bottle, removal of my mouthpiece and bucket, I stomp over to where Bricks is restocking towels and extend the object, I’d been choking the life out of for an entire period. “I need a new stick.”
“On it.”
“From the locker.”
“Got it.”
“And tape.”
“White.”
“And Hoss.”
This time there’s reluctance to his response. “Okay.”
Taking the defective one away and getting me one of my fresh, untouched spares requires significantly less time than locating my girlfriend who in spite of her best efforts looks about as pissed off as the boys did.
She waits until we’re out of the locker room and in one of the empty hallways to viciously bite, “ Where. The. Fuck. Were. You?! ”
“The hospital.”
Horror swiftly replaces hostility. “Oh shit…for Becks?”
I nod at the same time I flip my stick to be blade side up.
“Alcohol poisoning?”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe?!” She shrieks, arms thrown up into the air. “What the fuck do you mean maybe, Frosky?!”
“I mean I don’t know.” Placing the edge of the white cloth tape near the toe, I begin the traditional wrapping process. “One minute I’m on the phone bitching about a weird word for excessively arrogant-”
“I take it your name wasn’t enough letters.”
A tiny mirthful glare is shot in her direction. “ And the next, I heard a thud.” I keep my pacing and spacing even. “I hung up the phone, went to his room, found his head slightly bashed, and immediately called the medics.” Pausing precedes meeting her gaze. “Draw a dick.”
Disbelief doesn’t waste time covering her expression. “What?”
“Draw a dick.” Tipping my head to the waiting spot is accompanied by a stern follow up. “ Seriously. ”
The crinkling of her brows emphasizes her bewilderment. “Why?”
“Every stick I’ve played with this season has had a dick drawn on it thanks to you and your ‘I’m a dick therefore I need a dick on all my things’ policy.” I repeat the gesture. “And you know hockey players. We’re-”
“ Superstitious ,” she says in tandem with me.
“And now that you’ve brought it up-”
“ You brought it up,” Arden mumbles while removing the lid of the sharpie she keeps hooked onto her Dalvegan’s polo.
“You have on your socks?”
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“Knee highs.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Show me.”
“Still no.”
“Show me.”
Arden sharply points the marker at me. “Say ‘show me’ again and the next dick I draw will be on your face.”
Light laughs linger down the hallway prior to me whispering, “ The next dick you see will be on your face. ”
She swallows her snicker, shakes her head, and snips, “Finished.”
“ Is what I’ll be saying later… ”
“ Not if you don’t score. ” Arden meets my gaze and recaps the writing object. “ There’s no room in my bed for scorers who don’t score… ”
At that, she sassily begins backing away, summoning a more savage response than I expected, “ And you will be screaming on my cock after screaming in the stands, Slayer. ”
“Maybe…” One slow, teasing lick to her lips is given. “ Maybe not. ”
Displeased and determined growls flitter through the space as I resume taping all the necessary parts of my stick.
Oh, I am definitely going to be in her bed tonight.
I damn sure don’t want to be alone in my own.
Rather than keeping me benched to begin the second period, I’m immediately put in.
Losing the faceoff is somewhat anticipated – Peck really does have some incredible stats in that area – however our team promptly getting possession isn’t.
Payne’s unexpected control of the puck pushes him to create as much distance as he possibly can before their defense glides in for reinforcements.
One pass is all he has time to execute, and one pass is all we need.
The tape-to-tape execution allows me to fake a forward shot only to slyly slip it back between my legs and upward, knocking into the crossbar, over the goaltender’s shoulder, and down into the net.
Rumbles of frustration from Seattle are smothered out by the goal buzzer.
The boys yelling in approval.
The roars of the crowd that have shot to their feet to chant “Ra” in celebration of the impressive shorthanded delivery.
I excitedly knock buckets with the boys on the ice prior to skating over for high-fives from the bench that I stumble onto afterward.
Additional celebration sounds flood the sold-out stadium along with the announcer disclosing the details that have me smiling into the camera. However, the instant it’s elsewhere, I cut a small glimpse to the tunnel where I know Arden is watching.
Our eyes lock just long enough for me to wolfishly wink.
Oh, I’ll be in her bed tonight.
And tomorrow night.
And every other night of the week because much like being on this team…it’s exactly where I belong.