Page 138 of Over the Line

The back bone’s connected to the bullshit bone…

The bullshit bone’s connected to the fuckery bone…

The fuckery bone’s connected to the please-kill-me bone…

My own silent lyrics almost made me laugh out loud. On a plane full of hockey players plagued by aches and pains, we could probably get a hell of a singalong going about our stupid, battered meat puppets.

Or I could see if the team doc would have mercy on my too-old-for-this soul and prescribe me something strong. I very, very rarely resorted to painkillers, but everyone had a limit.

“You’re done for the night,” Mel, our team doctor, had told me in the locker room.

“No.” I’d shaken my head slowly. “They need me.”

“And you need to rest and⁠—”

“I can have Coach manage my minutes,” I’d ground out. “There’s less than half a period left, and the rest of the team will be less distracted if they see that I’m okay.”

He’d looked like he was going to argue with me, but he and I had both been here long enough to know how well that was going to work out. Absent signs of an actual injury, he wasn’t going to talk me out of returning.

So, he’d acquiesced. I’d returned with eight and a half minutes left to play. Between two shifts, I’d spent ninety excruciating seconds on the ice. Probably not the best I’d ever played, but the shift in morale had been apparent the instant I’d come out of the tunnel. The fourth line and second D pair had been setting up for a faceoff in that moment, and the release in tension in all five of them had been visible to the naked eye.

I’d been on the verge of tears by the time I’d finished that second shift, but it had been worth it to keep my team afloat long enough to win that game.

Today, as every breath hurt like hell and every movement made my eyes water…

Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have pushed it. Maybe I should’ve had faith in the guys, that they could rally and keep playing hard without me. They’d held their own while I was out because of my separated shoulder. I knew and they knew that they could play hard and win without me.

Hell, maybe that injury was why I’d felt so compelled to get back out there last night—I wasn’t letting them down again.

“Convalescing from an injury is not letting anyone down!” Mel had nearly torn his hair out when we’d argued five years ago when he’d wanted my ass on injured reserve over a hip injury. “You know what’s letting them down? Playing through an injury, which means you’re not playing at your best, and hurting yourself even more so you’re benched longer! Is that what you want, Saints? Is it? Is it really?”

Wise words, in hindsight.

I shifted in my seat, my breath hitching as fresh pain knifed through my neck and back.

I should’ve stayed in the locker room last night. We’d had a lead. I’d hardly been singlehandedly winning the game. If I’d stayed off the ice, there was no reason to think they’d have fallen apart. And I really didn’t think they would have. I hadn’t in the moment. I’d just felt the pressure to get out there and be the leader they’d elected me to be, season after season, for ten years running.

“Saints,” Craws said. “Man, you’re sweating.”

Was I? Oh, fuck. I was.

“I’m good,” I insisted to three sets of eyes that were already calling me on my bullshit. Finally, I sighed. “Look, it hurts. It’s one of those muscles that hurts like a motherfucker when it lights up. But it’s just a spasm.”

Someone appeared beside me. I wanted to look up and see who it was, but just trying to turn made the pain worse. Because of course it fucking did.

“Saints.” Oh God. Mel. “Son, you’re day to day. No arguments.”

I closed my eyes and slowly pushed out a breath. I wanted to argue. I did. But the knife in my back made a much more compelling argument.

“Fine,” I whispered. “Day to day.” I managed to look up enough to meet his stern but concerned gaze. “No IR.” If they put me on injured reserve, League rules dictated I’d be down for ten days no matter what. Absolutely the fuck not.

He nodded. He’d evaluate me tomorrow, and we could argue about it then. He was probably just happy he’d gotten me to accept being day to day without a fight.

As Mel walked away, probably to let Coach know he was updating my status, I faced my other teammates again. The ones at the next club table were watching too, and a few conversations had fallen silent.

I exhaled. “It’s a muscle spasm,” I insisted. “And if I end up missing a game over it, you guys will be fine.”

“We know that,” Barns said as if I were a complete dumbass. “We know we can play without you. Obviously we’re better with you than not, but the important thing is you not fucking yourself up.”