Page 71 of Body Check

twenty-five

. . .

Jason

It’s clear from the get-go that Dallas has our number. It’s the middle of the second period, and we’re tied at 0-0. The day off was much needed, but I’m moving slow as molasses.

Though, finally getting to be with Amelia after four days apart? Worth it.

After we fucked the horniness into abeyance, we curled up in each other’s arms and dozed. It was so nice to simply hold her again. I already miss her, and she’s just a few feet away off the ice, watching me from the tunnel.

I shake my head, trying to focus. I can’t afford any more distractions.

She snuck out of my room a little past four, and then got ready for dinner and a movie with her friends. As much as I wanted to join them, I forced myself to spend time with MacGregor, Logan, and Gonzo instead. After dinner, we went back to MacGregor’s room and played video games. It was the perfect low-key night to cap off a great day. But it would have been better if Amelia was there with me.

No. Focus.

Coach calls for a line change, and I vault over the boards, flanked by Larsson and MacGregor. We set up shop in Dallas’s end, and as anticipation wars with adrenaline in my veins, a steady sense of calm rushes over me.

This is where I belong. This is what I’m meant to do. No matter what it takes, I’ll work as hard as required to stay in this league. Nothing else compares. Nothing I’ll ever do for the rest of my life will ever be as meaningful as this.

Although it’s is a low-scoring game, it’s as high intensity as ever. Dallas’s players are huge, and their hits are massive. I spin to avoid a check from number 72, rubbernecking with the boards to escape. I don’t even have the puck on my stick.

But Allen and I go way back; he’s had it out for me ever since we both played for Detroit seven years ago, and I got more ice time than he did. The back and forth proved was good for both of us; it made us better players. Doesn’t keep him from hating me, though.

I learned to let it go. I don’t hold grudges. Hockey is too volatile a sport. Sometimes, I’m bitter about the plays that injured me, the hit that caused my third knee surgery, the trip that broke my wrist in the playoffs. But it comes in waves; it’s not a steady-state thing. Mainly, it’s when it twinges that I get salty.

Right now, I’m healthy as a horse. After the athletic massage Graham did on my knee this morning, I feel better than ever. Spending time with Amelia definitely helped, too. Now, we only need to figure out a way to hook up on every road trip.

MacGregor passes the puck, and I scramble to meet it, and it lands on my tape with a satisfying thwack. I carry it up the center of the ice, deking around Allen and Haney, the massive defenseman.

Larsson is behind me, and I drop the puck back to him, turning to meet Allen’s check.

And that’s when I hear it. A pop.

White-hot pain laces through me, and I collapse onto the ice. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink a few times, trying to breathe through the pain.

The refs realize I’m still on the ice, and call the play dead. My heartbeat echoes loudly in my ears when I try to sit up. I get halfway there before the pain gets to be too much and I have to stop.

Larsson skids to a stop, inadvertently spraying me with ice. “What is it? Your knee?”

I shake my head. It’s not my knee that’s hurting. “I don’t know.”

“Derek’s on his way,” MacGregor reports.

Around me, all the players take a knee. It’s never a good thing when a guy goes down; it’s worse when he doesn’t get back up.

Derek scurries over, wearing grippy cleats over his shoes. “Your knee?”

“I heard a pop,” I tell him. I’m sweating, and it has nothing to do with the game. “Something is wrong.”

“You need a stretcher? You didn’t hit your head.” He studies me carefully, assessing my condition. “Do we need to go into concussion protocol?”

I shake my head again. “It’s my ankle. Or my leg. I don’t know. I can’t get up on my own.”

“Okay. We’ll do it together.” Derek nods to MacGregor and Larsson, and my teammates grip my arms and lift me onto my skates.

I try to put weight on my left leg, and pain radiates through me. Blinking back the water in my eyes, I swallow and try to skate with my left foot hovering off the ice.