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CHAPTER ONE
Shellshocked
Logan
On the ice, I can hear the crowd above me chanting my name all the way from the stands. Their excitement echoes through the arena and vibrates in my chest. With each cheer they chant, the adrenaline riles me up even more. Glancing toward the scoreboard, there’s just enough time for one more play if we can execute it in time.
Drawing a deep breath, I exchange a look at John, my left-winger, then at Steve, my right-winger, giving them the signal to take it to the net. Acknowledging the play, I carry the puck down the ice around the net into the goalie’s blind spot. The buzzer sounds, and the horn rings, signaling the end of the game and our last win of the season.
Celebrating with my team, there are fist bumps, hugs, and cheers going on. The Knights have finally made it into the playoffs. Returning to the bench, I reach for my water bottle as Coach Wayward pulls me off to the side. “Someone from HR is waiting for you in the dressing room,” he yelled above the noise.
“Any idea on what about?” I asked, craning closer to hear him better.
“Nope. Sounded urgent.”
That couldn’t be good.
With my heart pumping loudly in my ears, I rush back to the dressing room where I find Pete, the team manager, and a woman I’ve never met before standing by my stall.
“What’s going on? Is it my sister? My mom?” I began running down the list of my loved ones.
“It’s your grandfather, Mr. Petersen,” the woman barely whispered. “I’m sorry to tell you he’s passed.”
Black dots spot my vision, and it feels like someone has just knocked the wind out of me.
“We’re so sorry for your loss, Mr. Petersen. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know,” she said, offering her condolences.
Following her exit, one by one, the members of my team came rolling in, bursting with excitement over our win while I was barely holding on. Removing my gloves, I shoved them into my open duffle bag as I reached for my phone.
“Hey Cap, you alright?” John asked, taking an uncertain step towards me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumbled, unable to put words to the news I just learned.
Powering up my phone, I set it on the bench beside me as everything started moving in slow motion.
“Killer goal, Cap,” Steve cheered, clapping me on the back.
Barely responding to his touch, I tried forcing any semblance of enthusiasm I could muster, but there weren’t any.
“Hey man, what’s going on? Is it Mia?” He asked.
Hearing my sister’s name, the other guys drew closer with concern. “It’s not Mia,” I reassured them. “It’s Opa,” I blurt, the regret surging through me.
Opa had meant the world to the three of us. I know John and Steve will take the news hard. Opa ran plays with us after school at the rink, took us to morning practice, and bought us pizza after every win. He even replaced the entire team’s equipment when the ice rink melted and destroyed our gear.
“Is everything alright, Cap?”
“No,” I mumble, on the verge of breaking. “We lost him, guys.”
“Shit. I didn’t even know he was sick,” Steve states.
That makes two of us.
Reaching for my phone, I shuffle through my messages. Five from mom, ten from Mia, none from my father, no surprise. He’s been MIA since he started having an affair with a woman he worked with back when I was still in high school. These days she is my stepmother.
At first, none of us caught on to what he was up to until the little things started becoming clear. Dad stopped taking me to practice and started forgetting games. He’d make promises to take Mia down to the studio to watch her recording sessions, but would never follow through. He’d even make plans with mom and then cancel last minute, but to go as far as not telling me Opa was sick. That had to be a new low.
Stomping down the hall towards the exit, I could hear footsteps quickly following behind me, but I kept going. Reaching the back door, I burst through it; the anger rolling off me in waves. As the door crashed against the brick wall, I tumbled into the parking lot. “Fuck,” I roar into the night as a sensation of pressure tightens in my chest.
