Page 77 of The Groupie

I did what he came to do, laid my heart on the line and emptied myself at her feet.

Now it’s up to her to decide. Underneath the edge of stark terror that I’ll loser her I find a measure of peace and hope that I won’t.

This is what’s chief on my mind as I sit in a windowless room guarded by security waiting for Italian law enforcement and Olympic security officials to determine my fate.

Lucky for me, Italians are a romantic lot. When I explain I was trying to protect Rylee from Chuck because he touched her when she didn’t want him to, thinking he was going to hurt her, and a couple of witnesses backed me up, the officials decided not to press charges. I didn’t see Chuck again, thank god. But then I didn’t see Rylee again before it was suggested by an Olympics security official that I leave on the next plane in the morning.

On the flight back to Boston, I drink several shots of whiskey to welcome me back to reality and then fall asleep in my first-class seat.

When I arrive on red-eye in the morning with a game tonight against the Devils, our main rivals, I don’t feel fit to play against an all-girl pee-wee team. No surprise there.

Walking in the locker room early, I pace around to stave off the urge to puke. I don’t know if it’s the whiskey, lack of sleep or the knowledge that Rylee is halfway around the world holding my heart in her fist and I’m waiting for her to decide what to do with it, with me.

“You look like shit,” Finn says.

“There you are,” Nowicki says when he walks in. “Came straight to the rink without stopping home?”

I glance at my luggage stuffed in my cubby. “What was your first clue?”

“Things didn’t go well?”

I shrug. “Games not over yet.” Not until the beautiful snowboarder sings. “Either way, I’m turning my focus to hockey.”

Nowicki slaps my back with a grin. “Good luck with that. You look like shit.”

It’s true. I’m in rough shape to play, but I buck up to take the ice because no way am I letting hockey go down the drain. I can handle this. I’m an adult, a man. Billie’s face floats through my head and I hear his laugh, feel the joy he always had playing hockey. I’m not going to quit on life because I lost a battle. I can handle loss. I can handle hurt. I won’t let it bring me down.

Marching with the team through the tunnel, I step onto the ice and the freeing effect takes hold. I look up into the stands because my mom is here and she reminds me that every day of life is a gift. Don’t leave anything on the table.

“No regrets.” I say the words out loud as I look up to her and raise my stick.

I start the game hyperaware of my surroundings, the rough feel of my gloves on my hands, the pressure of clamping down on my stick, the stretch of my jersey across my back as I lean forward to anticipate the puck drop and the noise of the crowd. As soon as the puck is dropped and O’Rourke wins the faceoff, the puck pops back in my direction and beating the Devil’s winter, I grab it and back away, giving the guys a chance to set up outside the blue line.

Circling around, I hold off the winger who’ attacking aggressively and with laser sharpness, pass the puck up to O’Rourke as he’s breaking over the blue line into the Devil’s end of the ice. The game feels like a million games I’ve played before, and at the same time, crisp and new.

The puck gets passed around and as soon as it hits my stick on the left side just inside the blue line, two things happen simultaneously. It feels like slow motion, but I know it all went down lightning quick.

First, I stare down a straight line to the goal and grip my stick tight as I let a wrist shot rip down that clean line.

Second thing that happens, but at the same time, is that Devils wingman charges at me, coming hard and I see the blur of motion from the corner of my eye, timing it so I get rid of the puck before impact.

As soon as he hits me, time speeds up again and I’m on the ice, teeth rattled and disoriented, for a blink, but I’m not out. My teammates crowd me and the horn signaling a goal blares.

“Helluva way to start a game,” O’Rourke says. He helps lift me to my feet and we skate to the bench as the crowd’s deafening cheers fill me with euphoria. Coach gives me a nod and maybe the hint of a smile.

“I don’t want to know the details of your emergency absence,” he says, “but if you play like this when you get back, you have my permission to leave if you ever have another emergency. But don’t. Just keep playing.”

I nod and climb over the boards to sit, silently thanking the heavens, but mostly thanking Rylee for being in my life and hoping for her to demolish the halfpipe and big air competitions. The rest of the game is tight, but we play tough on defense whenever the Devils work play into our end. We win in a three-zip shutout and I contribute the goal and two assists.

At the final buzzer, Finn comes out of the net instead of waiting for the team to go to him and he meets me at the blue line with a shove. The rest of the team piles on and for a few seconds, I’m lifted in the air, which is no small feat.

When we file off the ice, I become aware of the soreness in my shoulder where I hit the ice and the aching of tired muscles, but it’s the best feeling in the world.

“You were awesome big Zak.” Finn hits me on the head with his big goalie glove on the way through the tunnel to the locker room. “You were an absolute beast. What got into? I want some of that.”

“I second that,” O’Rourke says, his grin unreserved. A swell of pride settles in because O’Rourke is stingy with his praise. It has to be earned. We file into the locker room and the team buzzes with that special victory vibe that happens after some games. All wins feel good, but some carry a bit of extra with them. This is one of them and I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it’s all in my head.

“So what happened to set you off?” Nowicki says, knowing the answer and teasing me. But I don’t care if I’m on the record about Rylee and my unrequited love.

“Nothing like a little tragedy or a broken heart to make you feel every bit alive, to make you appreciate the value of leaving no effort untried, no energy unspent.” It’s the other side of the blade edge of life, but I keep that to myself because the guys stare at me without a clue what to say.

Coach comes in long enough to confirm my feeling about the game. “Men, congratulations on playing your best game this season. Keep it up.”

I hit the showers and my mind wanders under the steamy stream of water as my body relaxes, and I wonder if I’ll ever see Rylee again. Or if the stabbing pain between my shoulder blades, having nothing to do with hockey, will ever stop.