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“I…”
“I know you, Franny.” Malina levels her gaze at me. “That’s why Rachel is staying. I would if I didn’t have an early shift tomorrow.”
And so, I find myself surrounded by my two closest friends, cocooned in Stefan’s couch as the night winds down. We findanother hockey game to watch, and I doze on and off until the sound of the doorbell pulls me from my sleep.
CHAPTER 13
OFF MY GAME
STEFAN
That was a disaster.
I waited for her call as long as I could before Coach made me get out to the ice for warmups. The whole time I was on the ice, roughly twenty minutes when all was said and done, I was thinking about Francine. She never called before puck drop and even though Malina and Rachel kept me updated, I just wanted to hear her voice for myself before I had to take to the ice.
By the third period, Coach dropped me from the second line to the third, and replaced me on my usual penalty kill team. Alex, my line mate when I play like I know what I’m doing, sat beside me during our second intermission as a show of support, but even that couldn’t stop me from thinking I let my team down tonight.
“Morrow,” Coach pulled me aside and spared me the embarrassment of announcing to the whole team, “get your head on straight and I’ll put you back out there, got it?”
As if it were that easy.
“Sure, Coach.” I was too tired to argue. Too unsure of myself in the moment to make a case to stay on my line. And even if I could have made a case for myself, I know I wouldn’t havedeserved it. We earn our spots on the line, and tonight I played like I belonged on the bench. Coach was being gracious by only dropping me down a line.
And why did it have to be in Toronto? A city that loves their hockey, and I’ve just played the worst hockey of my life. My brothers were in the stands tonight, and will never let me live that performance down. I missed shots that should have been easy. I gave the puck away more times than I can count, and racked up more minuses tonight than pluses. Francine would tell me that stat isn’t a reflection onmyperformance, but tonight it feels like it.
Sitting in my stall, I field questions from the press. Our local team is great, but the Canadian media hounds me about the giveaways tonight. I take it in stride but walk away feeling more beat up than the night I lost two teeth on the ice.
“Morrow,” Coach’s voice calls across the dressing room, and I pull myself up, still in my skates and pads, my jersey discarded in my locker, and make my way across the room to him. Avoiding the eyes of my teammates. “You’re going home.”
“Coach, I know I had a rough night, but you can’t send me home for that.”
“One day.” Coach says, lowering his voice. “We pulled some strings. If you don’t leave now, you’re going to be late. You have tomorrow, and then you’re due back with the team. Make it count.”
“Coach…”
“Did the boards rattle your brains tonight, Morrow?” Alex calls from across the room. “You get to see your girl. Get dressed and get out of here.”
I don’t bother with my usual suit for post game, instead stripping off what’s left of my gear and leaving the arena in my compression gear, shorts, and team branded hoodie. I don’t care who sees me. All I care about right now is getting home toFrancine. Alex passes me my backpack, promising to make sure he packs up the rest of my stuff left at the hotel, and someone sends me out to a waiting car. The drive and flight are a blur, and then I find myself needing a way to get home. I’m not using a rideshare and Francine isn’t yet cleared to drive.
A rental it is.
Traffic out of Detroit this late at night is non-existent, and I make good time on my way west first for a quick pit stop before heading home to St. Clair Shores.
“Stefan!” Ursula shouts my name as I rush into Donut Worry, a man on a mission. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to Ottawa right about now?”
“Emergency at home,” I answer cautiously, “which is why I’m here for two maple bars and two buttermilk glazed if you’ve got ‘em.”
“I’ve got ‘em,” she smiles, packing a small box with my order. “Give Francine my love.”
“I will. Thank you Ursula.”
Once in my car, I fire off a quick text to Francine:I was in the mood for a post game donut. I’m having some delivered to you. So when the doorbell rings in about twenty-five minutes, don’t be alarmed.
Aw,she responds quickly, adding in a crying emoji.You’re so sweet.
Clicking off my phone, I drop it into the car’s cup holder and make the drive home as quickly as possible. There’s an unfamiliar car in my driveway when I pull in, the ownership of said car is confirmed when I ring my own doorbell and Rachel Winters stands on the other side of the door, raising a curious eyebrow.
“Post game donuts,” I answer as if it’s obvious. “She’s expecting them.”
