Page 281 of Cross Check

Sully

Why are you all sending so many messages? We’re standing five feet away from each other.

Connor

Grant and Hudson aren’t standing five feet away from us. We have to include them.

Still can’t believe you flew back for the gold medal game, Sully. Must mean you love all of us.

*Sully has left the group chat*

*Connor has added Sully to the group chat*

Connor

Really, Goalie Daddy? On the important day of our boys? I’m so disappointed in you.

I can hear the fans chanting from our locker room, and there are still ten minutes before the puck drops. I jam an AirPod in my ear and try to dull the noise.

Finding something to do is the easiest way to get my head in the game, and I grab my stick and start taping it. I’m doing my best to keep my pregame rituals the same as they are back home, but everything is different now.

I’m not sneaking a glance at my phone to see if there’s a text from Amelia. I’m not taking a photo that I’ll show her later. I’m empty and hollow and so fucking broken. Not even my Skittles taste good today, and I’m sinking into a state of despair.

I went to the women’s gold medal game two nights ago just so I could get a glimpse of her, and it was a stupid decision. Getting to watch her do the thing she does well cut like a fucking knife. Seeing her celebrate and not being able to be a part of that happiness stung.

I hoped I’d have a chance to run into her at the bar when the rest of the team walked in, but Emmy gave me a sympathetic look when she told me Lia went back to her room.

Space, I remind myself. She wants space.

But I’ve never been someone who can sit by while the people he loves hurt. I’m a fixer, and maybe the meeting I have scheduled with the commissioner next Wednesday will give me the chance to fix this whole situation. In another week, it’ll all blow over, and that will be that.

Optimistic to a fucking fault.

“Hey.” Davis Bartlow, who I participated in the Skills challenge with all those years ago, sits next to me in the locker room. I pop out my AirPod, and he smiles. “Sorry. Don’t want to disturb you while you’re in the zone.”

“No worries. I’m trying to clear my head, and nothing is working. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing after that article. The media has been a fucking circus.” He scoots closer. “Between you and me, I think it’s bullshit this is even a topic of conversation.”

“I’m barely surviving, if we’re being honest.” I offer him a shrug. “I’m glad I have hockey to give myself something to focus on, but I haven’t been fueling myself this last week. I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s fucking up my game play.”

“Don’t forget that you get to be here. No one is forcing you to stay, and if you’re going to go out there and represent our country, you might as well give it your best effort so we can snag the win.” Davis clears his throat. “I also heard from Thorne that Green is going to be in the stands tonight with the rest of the women’s team, so maybe that’ll motivate you to find the player inside you who earned his spot on the roster. Show off for her. Remind her why she fell in love with you.” He pauses. “Give the media something to talk about besides your personal life.”

“Thanks.” I nod in agreement. His words loosen the ball of tension in my chest. It unspools ever so slightly, and I roll my shoulders back. “It’s about time the U.S. men brought home a gold medal. Might as well make it today.”

I let familiarity take over after that. I follow the team to the ice and go through the last of our warm up shots. I do some final stretches for my hamstring, keeping my eyes on the ice and not the stands where I so desperately want to look. I take off my helmet for the national anthem and find my spot on the bench, happy with my second line positioning for tonight’s game.

Canada has been impressive the entire tournament, and we all knew this is who we would be going up against for all the glory. I can’t hear myself think over the loud cheering from the fans, and when Coach Saunders clasps my shoulder, I have to turn all the way around to face him to hear what he has to say.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not great, but I know what my job is. I’m not going to let outside circumstances dictate my performance,” I say.

“I’m proud of how you’re handling all of this.” Coach’s jaw works. “I know I was angry at you when the story first leaked, but I hate how things have turned out, Everett. Give me one more night of focusing on hockey, and we’ll see what we can come up with when we talk to the commissioner next week.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

Everything hurts.