And as a power forward, that’s completely unacceptable.
“I mean, it could be a multitude of things,” Theo offers. I look at him and he shrugs his shoulders as he continues to wrap the tape around his stick’s blade.
Cross clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I don’t know. No one’s been injured for long enough to make a real difference. We’re not scoring goals like we should be. If we can’t produce, what the fuck are we doing here?”
Guilt immediately strikes my chest and I feel his eyes on me. I’m bent forward again, pulling the clear tape from my socks. I’m not the only one who hasn’t been putting up points, but as someone who averages one point per game, I know I’m one of the main culprits.
“Who’s been changing shit up?” Shaw chimes in as he rises to his feet. My eyebrows tug together and Theo mumbles something to himself. “Should we all shave our heads or some shit?”
Theo huffs. “Here we go again.”
Hockey players are known for their superstitions and quirky habits. I toss the tape into the trash can and slip off my socks and then my shinguards. The smell of sweat, melted ice, and musk fills the room as everyone strips out of their gear. No one’s bothered by the scent. It comes with the territory.
“No, for real,” Shaw insists, his eyes trailing around the locker room, scanning each and every one of us with scrutiny. “Someone must have changed something up and whatever it is, it’s not working.”
Murmurs and mumbles break out throughout the room as the guys all start to disagree with him. Cross tilts his head to the side, his gaze locking with mine. The way he studies me is a tad unnerving, although it’s not unusual from him. He’s highly calculated, but quick to confront.
“Matty.”
I inhale deeply. “What?”
“You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything.”
I purse my lips and shrug my shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve been doing anything different or out of the ordinary.”
“That’s not true,” Gray, our goalie, cuts in. I whip my head to the side, my eyes narrowing on him. “Your New Year's resolution, remember?”
No way...
We ended up playing on New Year’s Eve and afterwards, we all drank champagne and made resolutions. Realization dawns over me. My eyes widen as I stare back at him. That game was the last one we won.
“Oh shit.” Shaw, Cross, and I all say at the exact same time.
“That’s gotta be it,” Tyson, one of our wingers says, nodding eagerly. “That last girl you were seeing around Thanksgiving. What was her name?”
I swallow roughly. “Robin.”
She knew the deal when we first started talking. I told her from the gate that I don’t date for love. I don’t do attachments, commitments, or strings. It’s mostly just something to occupy my free time. Who doesn’t enjoy a little companionship every now and then?
She swore she was cool with it, but things ended up changing, as they always do. She wanted more and I didn’t. We ended things right before the holiday.
“Right, right.” Tyson’s head bobs again. “You haven’t talked to anyone since your resolution, have you?”
On New Year's Eve, my resolution was to eliminate distractions, which meant swearing off dating. All the women I spoke to only saw one thing: a successful, professional athlete. Of course they always wanted more.
More is something I will never want from anyone.
“Holy shit,” Shaw says slowly, turning to face me. “That’s gotta be the reason why.”
“Shouldn’t it be the opposite?” I retort. “Getting rid of outside distractions should have me more focused on the game.”
Shaw smirks. “Theoretically, but I think you might be the exception.”
“It can’t be,” I argue, shaking my head at him, refusing to accept it as a possibility. “There’s no way.”
“But what if there is?” Theo says, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Dude, what if you need the distractions? What if you’re playing like shit because you’re overthinking it or something?”
“Hey, I’m not playing like shit.”