Page 11

halle

We tried to stay friends. We really did. Or at least, I did. At first, our conversations were two-sided. We texted every day, talking about minuscule things. Then our communication started to fade. Everyday texts turned to every few days, then once a week. It was always me igniting the conversation. Sometimes Tyler wouldn't respond for a few days after I'd sent something. Eventually, I gave up.

My love for the Blackhawks wasn't pushed away that easily. I followed the team despite my falling out with Tyler. Now, right before the playoffs, I was intent on watching Tyler score his 140th point in the next few games. That's right. 140 points. Somehow and someway, Tyler had kicked up the most insane point streak the NHL had ever seen. I liked to brag to Emily that I was the reason behind it. Maybe he'd been so upset by our half-assed breakup that he'd thrown every ounce of effort into playing. He averaged four points a game. The Blackhawks hadn't played a single game with under five goals since January. They hadn't lost a match since the previous year. And it was all, quite obviously, accredited to their top scoring forward and rookie.

I was watching a legend rise, there was no doubt about that. Hell, I even had a picture with him. I couldn't be mad at him for leaving me. After all, look what had come of it. Would he have this many points if we were still together? I didn't think so. Maybe us splitting was the best thing for both of us.

More for him than me. I'd been stuck on campus every day, studying and working. My only break in the load of classes was my spring break trip to Kiawah Island in March. Even that had flown by too quickly. The months went by in a blur of note filled pages and highlighter smudged fingertips.

My subscription of NHL TV had run out ages ago. Tyler hadn't kept paying for it. Instead, I was forced to watch good old cable at local restaurants. Luckily I'd found a decent sports bar and grill that was lenient with hockey games, as long as the Canes weren't playing. I'd claim a corner that had view of a TV, ask the waitress to put the NHL channel on, and enjoy some appetizers or dinner while I watched. My frequent visits had earned me the title "Chicago Girl" in the restaurant. They knew when I showed up in Tyler's jersey on a weekday that it was game time.

Tonight was no different. I'd sent a good luck text to Kirby awhile ago, but now I texted Tyler. Surprisingly, Kirby and I had been in contact more than my former flame had. Nothing more than talking about hockey, but it was still a nice thing to look forward to. Kirby didn't have to text me every game day. It was a kind gesture that I appreciated.

I pulled into the parking lot of Rookie's Sports, parking in the corner spot I always claimed. They should just put up a "Chicago Girl Spot, do not park here when the Blackhawks are playing" sign. The shiny white jersey was on full display as I made my way into the restaurant. My favorite waitress and fellow classmate, Jess, waved at me as I headed for my spot at the end of the room. The TV was already on the channel I was seeking. Perfect.

The one p.m. game was the only one on at the time. I was one of the only occupants of the restaurant, too. Perfect. I'd be able to hear and focus on the game.

As I took my seat, Jess brought a water over. I thanked her before turning my full attention to the screen. I was a couple minutes past the first face off, which I didn't mind. The second line was out, consisting of Jonathan, Brandon Saad, and Andrew Shaw as forwards. I watched them sail around the ice effortlessly, putting up a good fight against the New York Rangers. There was almost nothing to fear, knowing Tyler was coming up soon. I felt the familiar warmth in my chest as I saw him take the ice.

Tyler Dewalt was formidable. The camera never wanted to leave him. His speed was tremendous. His footwork was impeccable. His shots were hard, his passes direct. He was an unstoppable force, weaving through the defense like water. Him and Patrick were the deadliest duo on ice. The winger and the center were the new Leon Draisaitl and Connor McDavid. Though Connor was still number two for points overall, he was only at 115 at the moment. Pat was number three with 110 points. It was nice to see two Blackhawks dominating.

My attention paid off. Less than eight minutes into the game, Tyler sent a flying pass up to the Patrick. The puck was sent flying home into the back of the net. I grinned. Point number 138. I had no doubt Tyler could scoop another two up. I watched as he skated past the bench, fist raised to bump against the gloves of his teammates. Jon quickly took his place, taking the spot of Dylan Strome for some reason. I watched the captain carefully.

Jon was a good player. Strong, good at being in the right place at the right time. I couldn't help but admire the way he carried himself. He stole the puck without having to hit hard, almost as if he was better without confrontation. That was why I was confused when he went after a Ranger forward. It wasn't a completely dirty check, but it was so out of character for Jon. Both players were sent sprawling. Jon was quick to his feet. His opponent, not so much. The fallen player's teammates flew to his defense. In seconds, Jon was surrounded by angry blue jerseys. He ignored the ruckus, skating off for a line change. I had a bad feeling about what the hit would bring.

As if my premonition was right, the next time the captain was on the ice brought terrible events. Jon was in the corner, fighting for the puck. He never saw the checks coming. Two defencemen, both massive and taller than he was, came at him. One from behind, the other from the side. Obviously, Jon caught sight of the one to his right. He twisted, trying to catch the hit better. When he got slammed by both bodies, I instantly knew it wasn't good. I saw the way his legs went into the board, one going in a direction it never should have, and the other gaining a heavy impact through the knee. Even through the TV, yells of pain were audible. I almost dropped my water glass.

There was no doubt Jon had just broken a bone. Maybe more than one. Hushed silence had immediately fallen over the arena. Even the announcers were quiet. Everyone held their breath as medics rushed onto the ice. My heartbeat had increased rapidly. This was bad. Really bad. Jon was the captain. He was the level headed one. He was the leader. I couldn't imagine what the team was going through right now. To watch their brother and teammate get injured like that much be terrible. I couldn't begin to wrap my head around it.

The channel cut to commercial break, making me groan. I went to my phone, trying to find out as much as possible. No one was posting anything yet. I kept refreshing, hoping it might be something good. Nothing still.

When the break was over, the play started to resume. The player who had back-checked Jon had been ejected. It wasn't enough for the team. I could see how testy the Hawks were. Unnecessary pushes, yelling, even spearing. Penalties were handed out left and right each time. Even Tyler seemed tempted to go at it with other players. Not even clinching the coveted 140th point in the third period seemed to relax him. He'd officially passed Teemu and Gretzky's rookie records. He was number one. But the fate of his friend soured the moment.

I could hardly sit still without refreshing my phone. I texted Kirby almost immediately, even though I knew he wouldn't reply. When he did, I wasn't so sure he'd be allowed to tell me anything. Twitter was all over the play. My fears were basically confirmed by multiple breakdowns. It was almost a definite break. If not that, then a bad tear of ligament or muscle. In the worse case, it was both. Fans were already skeptical about Jon's future.

With downed spirits, I left the restaurant early. The win was awesome, but even without it we would have made the playoffs. I couldn't bring myself to be happy when the fate of Jon's career was so iffy like this.

Hours later, when Coach Colliton released a statement about Jon, I immediately read it. The news made my heart drop.

Kirby still hadn't texted me. I took a chance, deciding to try and call Tyler. I wasn't sure if he would pick up but it was worth a try. I wanted to congratulate him and ask how the team was.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Tyler."

"Uh...who is this?" My heart sank.

"Oh. It's Halle."

"Right, sorry. Didn't look at who was calling."

"Ok. I wanted to say congrats on your 140th point. That's crazy!"

"Thanks! I'm pretty proud of it." I could hear the smirk on his voice. "But I'm sure that's not the reason you called. I can't tell you anything besides what the rest of the public already knows. Just...it's not good." His tone had grown distressed.

"I'm sorry. I feel terrible. Kirby always talks about how awesome he is. It sucks that this had to happen to him."

"Could've happened to any of us." He paused, my words registering. "Wait...do you talk to Kirby?"

"Sometimes. We text a lot." I made sure to let a note of acid sink into my voice.

"Oh. I guess that's cool."

"Yep. He's a good friend."

"Which I haven't been." His words sounded sadder, with a tinge of regret. I tried to ignore the guilt in his voice.

"It's ok. I get it. You're busy. Got a reputation to uphold, right? Kirby doesn't have the same pressure. He has more time to talk." I don't know why I wasn't letting the subject go. Maybe I just wanted to push every one of Tyler's buttons. "Tell him to call me, ok? Bye." I should have felt satisfied by the dig at Tyler. I wasn't. I didn't want Kirby, or anyone else. I just wanted familiar Tyler with his perfect green eyes.

me being the enthralled in a hockey game while Emily was bored. A year before, our roles were completely flipped.

Second period brought a St. Louis goal. I groaned heavily, dropping my head to the counter in front of me. The score had been clinched on the third line, containing Drake Caggiula and Alex Nylander. I remembered the blonde goof that was Alex from when I visited Chicago. He'd been an interesting character then, but now he'd cost the team a goal. Tensions were raised. They couldn't lose. Not here, not now.

But they did. The lines were jumbled during the final period. Everyone was obviously not comfortable where they were playing. The Blues scored again. The Hawks scored the first and final goal for themselves during the last two minutes of play, which had coincidentally been on a powerplay. Tyler had the assist on it for Andrew Shaw. At least he'd been involved.

Emily and I left before the game was officially over. What a disappointing end to a stellar rookie season. Next year. Next year was Tyler's year. I knew it. I pushed hockey out of my mind as we headed for Emily's car. The small gray vehicle was already packed to the brim with things from our dorm. The drive to Kiawah Island would take almost six hours.

I pulled the jersey over my head, relaxing in the light long sleeved shirt I had underneath. I didn't want to get the jersey wrinkled and messed up during a long trip. I already had sweatpants on in preparation. I placed the red shirt in the back seat of the car, making sure it was folded nicely on top of a flat box. When I joined Emily in the front, she was tapping the wheel impatiently. I knew she was annoyed I'd insisted on watching the game. It was now almost four, so we'd be driving well into the night. It didn't matter that we would be switching off; Emily hated to drive at night.

A sigh escaped my chest. I put my wireless headphones over my ears, letting music drown out the gentle rumble of the engine and Emily's radio. I'd be more upset about the loss if we weren't heading to the beach. I was going home.

Excitement started to increase my heart rate. It had been so long since I'd been on the familiar beach. Our minor trip over spring break had been pockmarked with storms and the closure of the beaches due to the tides. I missed the warm sand under my toes. I'd spent every summer here for the past twelve years. At first, staying at the summer camp on the island. Then, once I was sixteen, I became a counselor. I adored the sea-centered activities, spending days and days under golden sun and hunting for pretty seashells. I never got bored of the ocean. It was what had spurred my pursuit of studying marine biology. The beach was more my home than Toronto was. The only thing that would make this summer better would be Tyler at my side.

Two hours into the drive, Emily and I switched places. My friend snoozed as I kept the car cruising down the interstate. My mind wandered all over. Specifically, wondering about a certain brunette hockey player with startling green eyes. I had to hope that somehow and some way, we'd eventually find our way back to each other. I couldn't imagine falling for anyone else. I understood he needed time and space to work on hockey, but I desperately wanted to find my way back to him. I could only hope he felt the same. Maybe fate had pulled us apart for a specific reason. Maybe it intended for us to grow up and live separate lives for a bit before we grew close again. Or maybe I was being foolish. Maybe he didn't give me a second thought for days. Maybe I had been a mistake he got over in the span of a week. I hoped my fears were wrong.

Life without Tyler was impossible. If I wasn't able to watch him play, I think I'd go insane. I just wanted him back.