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The coach comes in with his hands in his pockets. “Before the media comes in here and fucks with your heads, I want to say something.” I sit. “We will look back at tonight’s game and won’t like the game we played. But I want to say something. It has nothing to do with our top pair, top line, or third line. We know that we are capable of more as a group. So we learn from this.” He looks around the room. “Are we clear? We still have two more weeks and five games. I don’t want to see anyone dragging ass on that ice.”
“Yes, Coach,” we all say in unison before Jay laughs.
“We did good, guys.” He looks at me. “Even you, Richards.”
I toss my head back and laugh before I take off my elbow pads. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I hold up my fist for him to fist-bump me, and when he does, he smirks at me.
The coach was not wrong, the press came in, but we decided we were going to go down as a team, and that is what we did. The minute I get into the car, I look down at my phone, and I’m not surprised about the texts on the screen.
Uncle Matthew Sr.: Tough loss. You’ll get ’em next year. We’ll train harder this summer.
Uncle Max: This fucking sucks. Call me to bitch.
Dylan: Next year, yeah?
Michael: I’m sure you’ve gotten the texts, so I won’t hash it out. One step closer to summer vacation.
Grandpa Cooper THE OG: Tough loss out there, my boy. Doesn’t define you, remember that.
I smile because no matter how many of us play hockey, he literally watches every single game, maybe not that night, but he is always up to date. He also always texts us.
Dad: Proud of you always.
Mom: I’m also proud of you.
I laugh because they probably sent the texts at the same time.
Zoey with a Y: Dude, what the fuck is up with your game? I don’t know a lot about hockey, but that did not look good.
I chuckle because she is not wrong.
Then I read the group text with my cousins.
Christopher: If it makes you feel better, we won’t make the playoffs either.
Matty: Chin up.
Stefano: This is why I don’t play hockey.
Matty: This is why? It’s not because you suck?
Christopher: Now we all have to deal with Dylan, Tristan, and Xavier saying their team is better.
Matty: They made the playoffs; I’m going to say they are.
I turn off the phone because the one person I wanted to hear from didn’t text me. I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. It’s not like she knew tonight was a big game. Our chats lately haven’t been deep and meaningful.
Ever since I asked her to move in with me, over three weeks ago, it’s been awkward between us. Forget the fact we haven’t seen each other; we haven’t even made the effort. I really couldn’t, but she could have, and she didn’t. I was thinking of just showing up at her place, but I didn’t think she would want that either. Things have just become weird between us. Even the conversations are few and far between. The texts are starting to dwindle also.
Not bothering to turn on any lights when I get home, I go straight to my closet to get undressed. Kicking my shoes to the side and taking off my pants, I fold them and place them on the hanger with the jacket over them.
Getting into bed, I grab the remote off the side table and turn on the television. The sadness of tonight makes it hard to fall asleep. I avoid watchingSportsCenterto relive the game. I’m sure it’ll be on the front of the local newspaper tomorrow. I turn off the television and look off to the side, my eyes getting used to the blackness when I picture Ryleigh’s face smiling at me.
I’ve never been in love before or wanted someone who feels like she doesn’t want me back. I close my eyes, only to open them five hours later. I get out of bed and head to the shower before walking to the gym.
I know I should calm down before I call her, but my hands pull up her name on my phone. Calling her, I listen to the phone ring. One side of my head tells me tohang up the phone, while the other side of my brain tells me thatit’s about fucking time.
She answers after four rings and sounds out of breath. “Hey,” she says, “can I call you back?”
