Page 4 of Your Love (Merrimack Mavericks Hockey #3)

Chapter 4

“About A Girl”

Landry - Age 18, 1988

Merrimack Mavericks Player Questionnaire

Name: Christian Landry

Date of birth: July 28, 1970

Height: 6′5″

Weight: 207#. Hit the Christmas cookies pretty hard this year. I need to get that down to 200#. It’s almost April, so I’m not off to a great start.

Position: Goaltender

Years played : 13

GPA : 4.2

Strengths : Unmatched physical prowess. Imposing size. Lightning-fast speed. Impeccable skating ability. Unwavering focus. The ability to see the game from all angles, anticipating moves before they happen.

Weaknesses : Sarcasm and interacting with people.

What would your teammates say about you? It depends on who you ask. Some would say I’m quiet and that I like to observe and listen rather than speak, which is true. Others describe me as serious, always deep in thought and contemplation, which is only partially true. “Pensive” is a word that has been used by teachers. People who know me well would say I’m protective.

Are you willing to make the commitment to the Mavericks? If not, would I be spending my Sunday evening filling out this stupid questionnaire?

Tell me about a situation that changed your life. You’re out of luck there. The one thing that shaped my life the most is the one thing I refuse to talk about. If you like, I can make up a story about how I found an injured bird in a nest when I was nine, nursed it back to health, and it changed the course of my life.

I sit back in my chair and look over my smart-ass answers to the questions Coach Dupree gave me, and with a sigh, I crumble it up and toss it on the trash can beside my desk. I never intended to take this seriously, so it’s a good thing I grabbed an extra copy as I struggle to suppress my irritation. The coach only implemented this questionnaire last year, which is lucky for Delacour and Tazman since they were already on the team. Taz, in particular, probably would have failed, given that I’m pretty sure he’s a sociopath.

This whole thing is a formality since everyone already knows who I am. I’ve been working out with the Mavs for months now, but I still have to complete this stupid task by tomorrow afternoon.

I despise having to answer questions about my identity, strengths, and weaknesses. Why do college admission essays and job interviews insist on asking the same questions? Does anyone actually admit to their deepest flaws? As it turns out, one of my most significant flaws is not wanting to acknowledge that they exist.

Ironic.

Still, I can answer some stuff about my personality, but I’m not about to talk about the most defining moment of my life. Which one was it? When I started playing hockey? Losing my virginity? Or something far more profound—something that’s burrowed into every facet of who I am.

I’ve had my fair share of experiences at eighteen years old, but one stands out above the rest. It’s a story I’m not eager to tell, let alone write an essay about. As much as I try to push it away, it remains a part of who I am, forever etched into my identity. That doesn’t mean I talk about it. Not with my parents. Not with my friends. Not with a therapist.

I’ll make something up—something generic like the one I used for my college admissions essay. That bird story I just created isn’t half-bad, so maybe I’ll do something along those lines.

Speaking of college, the pressure to decide on where I’m going is beginning to weigh on me. I applied to a few prestigious universities at my dad’s urging, and surprisingly, I was admitted. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not interested in going to some snobby Ivy-league college. It’s not me. It’s also hella unrealistic. I don’t know when my dad decided we have the money for something like that because we definitely don’t.

Don’t get me wrong. We’re not destitute or anything. We have an excellent life and a lovely home. What we don’t have is an extra eighteen thousand dollars per year. Realistically, I wouldn’t be able to attend most of these schools unless it’s on a hockey scholarship. Playing for the Mavericks, even for a few months before graduation, increases my chances of getting one. So, essentially, I need to fill out this paperwork that I don’t want to do in order to earn a spot on the team, receive a scholarship, and go to a college I don’t want to attend.

Now I’m in a spiral. I take a deep breath and click my desk lamp off as I hear a slight knock on my door.

“Come in, Pais,” I whisper gently as I open the door to my bedroom. She must have had a nightmare, judging by the scared look on her face and the way she’s trembling.

True enough, she steps inside, her tiny feet shuffling across the carpet. She’s wearing her favorite flannel nightgown with little kittens printed all over it and clutching tightly onto her raggedy old baby blanket.

“Did you have a bad dream?” I ask, kneeling to her level.

She nods silently, her bottom lip trembling. “Do you want to sleep in here tonight?” I offer, knowing that sometimes all she needs is to feel safe and secure in my presence.

She nods again, the relief visible in her expression as she hops onto my bed and crawls under the blankets.

“Are you more comfortable now?” I ask, leaning in closer.

She nods, her eyes locked on mine. “Can you find your voice again for me?”

A flicker of panic crosses her face before she turns it into an incredulous expression as if I’m delusional for asking. I ask her often, and it’s also the same reaction. No one has heard my sister speak since the accident. She rewards us occasionally with a small giggle or grunt, but she hasn’t uttered an actual word in years.

She used to be a lively and curious kid, always asking the same questions repeatedly, to the point of annoyance. Then, her voice was silenced. The doctors assure us that she’s still capable of speaking and will when she decides to. We’re urged to continue to be patient and understanding, but sometimes, it’s hard not to feel frustrated at the lack of progress. Despite it all, I refuse to give up on Paisley.

I tuck her under the fluffy comforter and wrap her in soft blankets, cocooning her like a tiny human burrito. I brush the tangled strands of hair out of her face, revealing tear-stained cheeks, which I wipe off with my thumb. “Everything is fine, Pais,” I reassure her. “Get some sleep.”

With a click, I turn the desk lamp back on, filling the room with a warm yellow glow. I know she finds comfort in the light, as it helps to keep the darkness at bay and ward off the memories that keep her trapped in silence and fear.

I lower myself into the once-plush armchair nestled in the corner of the room; my eyes fixated on her petite form. Paisley adds another layer of complexity to this already daunting college decision. She has my parents, grandparents, and a team of medical professionals who all adore her. But it’s me she prefers above all others. Maybe it’s the bond forged from the trauma we shared, or our connection would have existed regardless. I’m not entirely sure.

What I do know is that leaving her behind will be nearly impossible. My parents constantly remind me not to base my future decisions on my sister. They tell me often that I have my own life to live. While I understand that logically, it isn’t easy to wrap my mind around it. Who will comfort Paisley when she has nightmares? Where will she turn to if I’m not here?

As the night settles in, I come to terms with the fact that the answers to my questions will not be found this evening. My body aches from exhaustion, and my mind is weary from endlessly racing thoughts. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back into the worn chair. Maybe tomorrow will bring some much-needed clarity to my mounting uncertainties.

I shut my locker before the first period as Taz greets me with a familiar nickname. “What’s up, Chewbacca?” he says with a grin. Not this shit again. I mean, I get it. I’m a big guy, and I have some hair on my chest, but Taz is relentless with it.

I sigh, already annoyed. “I’m not loving that nickname, Dude,” I reply matter-of-factly. “You can call me Landry like everyone else.”

Taz shrugs, undeterred. “But you’re big and hairy. It fits.”

I resist the urge to check him into a row of lockers. It’s not even eight in the morning, and I’m already tired. I spent most of the night trying to get comfortable in a chair I outgrew about three years ago, so I didn’t get much sleep. “Taz, just because your face is as soft as a baby’s ass doesn’t mean the rest of us share the same problem.”

He laughs off my comment casually like he always does. As Sascha approaches, her expression is twisted into a familiar scowl, warning everyone away from her. She puts on a scary facade, but she’s a big softy underneath and easily one of the most interesting people I know. We’ve been friends since middle school, and she hasn’t changed one bit since then—still stomping through the hallways in her Doc Martens, ready to kick ass.

“Hey, Sash,” I greet her warmly as we pass.

“Hi, Landry,” she responds, her tone softening.

“Ass face,” she quips at Taz, who grins in response.

“Hag,” he retorts playfully before we all continue walking as if this exchange is totally normal.

To everyone else, Sascha and Taz may act like enemies, but I know there’s something else there. They try to hide it, but we all know what’s going on. One of these days, maybe they’ll realize it and actually do something about it. I only hope I’m nowhere around when it does.

Love is cool if you can find it. This world is difficult enough without trying to do it alone—that much, I know. I haven’t had a girlfriend since sophomore year, and that wasshort-lived, but I can admit I miss it. Not that I have a lot of time, and our senior year is almost over, but it would be great to have someone to spend these last few months with.

I tried to talk to Ivy at the beginning of the year when she was new and hadn’t met anyone yet. She shot me down, which is for the best since she and Delzy have found something special together. I envy them a bit, but there’s no one around here for me, so in the meantime, I focus on everything else. Of course, I keep these sentiments hidden from my friends. It’s not exactly a topic of conversation during hockey intermissions with the guys.

I enter the classroom, hoping to avoid being called on today. Last night, between Paisley needing me and that stupid questionnaire, I fell asleep before I finished the assigned reading. Honors English is one of the few classes I don’t share with anyone in my friend group, and it’s a nice break from having to talk to anyone.

As I step inside, I freeze in my tracks for a second to contemplate ditching this class, and it causes the girl behind me to bump into my back. “Geez, Landry,” she laughs. “Move your fine ass.”

I shake my head and chuckle before continuing into the classroom. I’ll do my best to hide today—a venture that never really works out for me due to my size. I decide to take a seat in the back of the classroom, both to stay out of sight and also because that’s where there’s the most room. Just like that old chair in my room, I outgrew the desks in this school when I was fourteen. At least in the back of the room, in a mostly empty row, I can sit to the side and stretch my legs out.

After grabbing my notebook and pencil, I lean back and wait for class to start. I tune out the sounds around me—gossip, laughter, and loud gum chewing swirl around the room. I’ve always had the ability to tune things out around me and hyper-focus on one thing. Sometimes, it’s a blessing—it makes me a great goaltender. But sometimes, like now, it’s a curse. I can’t stop thinking about the future. What’s the best decision for me? Do I stay here for a few years or head straight to college? Should I even try to keep playing hockey? What about Paisley? I’m so tired of feeling like I have to figure everything out alone.