So I’m ignoring her.
Whatever is going on with Brooks’s estate is none of my business, and I’ve got no desire to step in to manage it or whatever the fuck she wants me to do. She can get my father on board, and I’m sure he’d be more than glad to dive in. I’m sure he and my mother are the sole beneficiaries anyway, so there’s no reason for me to get involved.
Keller finishes his remarks, and it’s time to go back out on the ice. We’re greeted with a big, formal introduction with strobes, flashing lights, a raucous AC/DC song, and one of the league’s best announcers to whip up the crowd.
I missed this part while down in the minors. We didn’t get this level of fanfare, but at least the hockey was good.
What makes it extra special as I step onto the ice—feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline amping up my excitement and actually morphing that sizzle of nerves into energy—is the fact that my Aunt Bethany is in the stands. She came in from Ithaca yesterday and is staying at my apartment for a few days, insisting she needs to get me adequately set up. Today was spent buying curtains, towels, sheets, and other homey touches that don’t mean anything to me, but it makes her feel good to be able to help.
Of course, giving Bethany a ticket to this game was a no-brainer. I really had to think about what to do with my father’s repetitive requests for tickets. Ultimately, I had to tell him I couldn’t swing it but maybe some other time.
This was followed by repeated demands via text, email, and voicemail wanting to know why, simply not understanding, I didn’t secure season tickets for him already. He wanted to assure me they’d be coming to most of the home games. It’s like they’ve already forgotten Brooks.
I’m starting to understand that it wasn’t necessarily their younger son they decided to focus on to the exclusion of the older so much as they were attracted to his star power and what it could do for them.
It seems I’ve become that surrogate, and it makes my gut burn. My goal is to ignore my father and hope he gets the message and backs off.
As I circle the ice before the national anthem plays, I look around the stands. It’s just a sea of people—anonymous faces—all cheering at the top of their lungs. I have no idea where Bethany’s seat is, but I know she’s here. She texted me when she arrived, having taken an Uber. I was able to get her a pass to come down to the family waiting area after the game, and she’ll ride home with me. No going out and partying afterward, no matter the outcome.
Just a quiet night at home with the one family member who truly matters.
♦
We’re scored on within the first twenty-four seconds of the game against the Washington Breakers, and I can’t help but think we’re on our way to a bloodbath. But the fans aren’t put out in the slightest. Normally, an arena will go quiet when the home guys are scored upon, but fuck me… they seem to get louder than they were before the game even started. The fans chant their team’s name: Titans, Titans, Titans.
It’s a battle cry from the fans telling us they’re our seventh player out on the ice, and they aren’t giving up.
Gage skates over to Patrik, has some words, and then motions the rest of the team in while the Breakers celebrate. Gage isn’t our captain—that honor was given to Coen by Coach Keller—but he doesn’t hesitate to show the icy calm that comes from being a veteran in this league.
“Not a big deal,” he says, and it’s not lip service. I can tell he let that goal roll off his back, and he wants us to do the same. “These fans are with us. No matter what, we have them, so let’s show them our resilience. Dig deep, give it your all for them. Got it?”
Everyone echoes his sentiments, except Coen. He doesn’t say a word, face impassive, and merely skates off to the bench as we disperse for the new line to come on for the restart of play.
We battle it out for two periods and go into that last intermission only down 2–0. Not much Keller can say because we’re holding our own. Our goalie, Patrik Senlund, is a bit of a basket case, and he’s doing an awful lot of complaining that the defensemen are getting in his way and he can’t see what’s going on, but other than that… we’re not doing that bad.
Over the last four practices, I earned and settled into the first line with Gage Heyward at right wing and Coen Highsmith at center, as well as Nolan Carrier and Kirill Zucker as our defensemen. Patrik got the call to be in net tonight, but I know Jesper is going to get a shot at the next game. They’ve been fairly even in practices, and I think it’ll come down to temperament.
On the ice, I have to admit that Gage, Coen, and I are gelling. It’s always a little rocky to join a new line, and here we are putting three distinct styles together to form the offense. But for whatever reason, our speed, pacing, and strategy seem well-matched. While we run well-rehearsed plays, if there’s a bobble, we seem to be able to pivot together well.
About the only thing not quite working up to par is Coen. He earned his spot on the first line because he’s not only a good player but because he was on that line before the plane went down. While he’s smooth and confident on the ice, he’s just not operating at quite the same level of skill as he was prior to the crash. His personality seems to have changed, at least from what I’ve heard about him.
At times, he’s withdrawn and moody, and he doesn’t engage the other players in any meaningful way. If he gets frustrated by someone or something, he doesn’t rant or rail. He ignores it almost to the extent I wonder if he feels anything at all. In my mind, I’ve likened him to a zombie off the ice because he seems to be stumbling aimlessly with nothing going on between the ears.
Regardless of these issues, we seem to be fairly in sync. That’s probably more due to the fact we’re experienced players and not rookies. We’ve got the shots on goal to stay competitive—it’s just that their goalie is in the zone tonight and seems to be stopping everything with a sixth sense.
It’s the start of the third period, and the Breakers score quickly, capitalizing on a missed pass from our third line. Disheartening, but clearly the difference between seasoned professionals going up against players still trying to find their footing. This type of mistake doesn’t bother me and will only improve with more practice.
The red light comes on at the center-ice booth indicating a TV time-out. Our first line will be handling the face-off after, so I stand on the ice, leaning against the boards. I normally don’t pay attention to the fans, but I let my gaze roam, taking in the atmosphere. In all the games I’ve played in the professional league, including during Cup playoffs, I’ve never heard fans be as consistently loud in their cheers. Normally, there’s waxing and waning, but these Titan proud haven’t stopped giving their all to let us know they’re with us. It’s the most inspiring thing I’ve seen in a long time.
The red light dims, and we head out to the face-off circle, settling into our places while the ref prepares to drop the puck. Coen is taking the battle, and I watch the ice where the puck will fall, ready to grab it if it shoots my way. He’s going to try to get it on Gage’s stick who is standing to his left near the top of the circle, but if he’s beat on the draw, I’m ready to jump on it.
Coen wins the draw, but it shoots past Gage and gets trapped against the boards. He scrabbles at it, pushing and shoving against a Breaker for possession. Gage rams an elbow back hard into the guy’s ribs, which stuns him enough through the padding that Gage is able to poke the puck away with his stick.