In the locker room, I quietly get into my gear as chatter flows around me, songs from Sebastian’s stereo playing loudly, helping me drown out the noise in my mind until we hit the ice.
It’s his new hobby, playing 90s songs whenever we’re in the locker room or a bus, or on a private flight for an away game. Initially, it bothered me, but when I discovered how it helped me focus on something other than the ghosts of my life, I didn’t seem to mind it. I welcomed it even.
Soon, we’re on the ice, getting ready for tomorrow’s game with the Tampa Titans. Coach James has us run through a rigorous drill, not letting us take it lightly for even a second.
That’s what I love about this sport: you can lose yourself in it, shut out everything weighing on your mind, exhaust your body until you can’t stand straight, and pass out.
It has helped me all my life; hockey might be the only reason I’m standing sane today. My past,my life, and the people in it, people who should’ve protected me, did everything in their power to tear me down, to make me lose sanity, make me lose myself to the shadows hanging over me.
Most might be befuddled as to how a puck coming at you at a breakneck speed helps you. And I do understand their reservations. It’s just that pain never bothered me, not when it became my companion from a young age.
Being a goalie meant stopping the players from getting a puck inside the net. And the precision and focus required helped me forget everything else, including the shit that my life was.
Hockey is the only thing that has never let me down when everyone around me did. It didn’t today either. It helped me forget about last night, about Andie and the sounds she makes when she comes, how her face is overcome with pure bliss, her pretty pink pussy glistening and tempting a man like me to sin, her curves to die for.
Being on ice worked, or so I thought, because the moment Ezra came charging, trying to sneak a goal past me, the flashes of me bringing his only sister pleasure streaked in front of my eyes, momentarily freezing me. When I finally cameto it and moved, it was already too late.
The puck was inside the net.
My teammates ceased right where they stood. The screeching of the blades as they stopped on the ice was the only sound you could hear because everyone had stopped breathing—including me—too surprised by that goal.
Not even Coach was breathing, and he wasn’t that easily surprised. Not when we threw him a birthday party, and not when Seb’s ass was front and center of every tabloid.
Yet, today he looked at me like he couldn’t bring himself to believe that I’d let one of my teammates score a goal during practice. His reaction was similar to everyone else’s as I scanned the rink.
Trying not to make a big deal out of it, and get rid of that itch I was getting with everyone’s laser focus attention on me, I feigned a smirk, which felt unnatural. “You getting past me? That’s good.”
Ezra comes closer, coming to a halt right in front of me as he removes his helmet and tucks it under his arm, his hockey stick resting between his legs, while others seem to talk among themselves, giving us a moment. “Pardon myFrench, but what thefuckwas that, Noah?” His gloved hand extends, digging into my shoulder pad.
A strong wave of remorse washes over me, threatening to drown me. Here, he is concerned about me, and look at me getting involved with his sister, whom he clearly mentioned is off-limits.
Liar. Backstabber.
Now is not the time! I reprimand myself.
“It was you sneaking a goal past me,” I shrug, not wanting it to be a bigger deal than it is.
He cocks his eyebrow, head tilted to the side as he studies me while I try my damnest not to let him through. “That’s never happened before,” he points out.
“There’s a first time for everything, dude. Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is. I’m just exhausted,” I say, already tired of this conversation.
I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Not when Andie’s essence was still on my tongue.
“But—”
“Enough, Ezra,” I snap at him, easily letting the broody and angry side take over. That’s the only way he’ll stop digging.
It works because he shuts his mouth, his jaw clenched tight, and with a nod, he skates away. I breathe a sigh of relief after him.
I feel bad lying to him. But there’s nothing I won’t do for Andie. And if lying to the people closest to me is what it takes to keep her happy, then so be it.
* * *
All of us are dead on our feet by the time we head back into the locker room. Half the players are already out of their gear and ready to take a shower, and the others are chatting among themselves.
Most are talking about me, as evidenced by the occasional glances they throw my way while whispering to each other. I grind my teeth, and it takes everything in me not to rip them a new one.
I don’t because it’s not their fault that I let myself get distracted for the first time since they’ve known me. Sure, other teams make goals all the time, but never have I ever let one get past me during practice. And it grates on my nerves as much as it shocks them.