Page 5 of Ice Me Out

For my other teammates, their wives and girlfriends were blissfully unaware of the infidelity. My stomach churned when I’d witness some of my teammates hug and kiss their partners and kids after we stepped off our charter bus with the same lips that were on some puck bunny less than ten hours ago.

I might be a dirtbag who sleeps around, but I’m a SINGLE dirtbag.

I remained purposely single and unattached because I knew I wouldn’t be faithful with all the temptation, but as the saying went, some liked to have their cake and eat it, too.

As a child, I witnessed firsthand how deep infidelity could cut into someone’s self-esteem and self-worth. My mother discovered my father had another family across town, and it broke her. And when she just couldn’t “get over it,” he left for good for his other family and seemed relieved he didn’t have to hide it any longer. Once, he had the audacity to show up to church on Sunday morning with his mistress and their two sons. The buzzing of whispers in the church when Sam Myers sat with his eastside clan on the pew across from me and my mother was louder than any locust plague sent by God. My mother held her head high and soaked in the sermon instead of snatching me up and running out of the church. When the service ended, she approached them, said they looked like a lovely family, that she’d pray for them, and left. Later that night, I was woken out of my sleep by the sound of a gunshot.

Truthfully, I’m not sure I want a ticket to ride the merry-go-round of women any longer. But… I do want companionship, especially when I get lonely on the road. Fuck.

I blinked rapidly when Marlon waved his hand in my face. “Yo. Are you all right? You spaced out.”

“I’m fine. I was trying to compute that bullshit you were talking about.”

He laughed and followed me out of the dressing room. “Shit. You’re a little slower than I thought,” he taunted.

“Who you calling slow, old man?”

“Don’t start, Myers. I can skate circles around you, and you know it.”

He can’t, but I’ll let him have it.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked, changing the subject as we left the locker room and stepped into the throngs of adoring fans. I ignored the women shouting my name and number for the young kids who were eager for me to sign their jerseys and ball caps. I took a few pictures, said some inspirational shit, and got the hell out of dodge.

“Seriously, Myers, are you all right?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?” I said, following him to the tunnel that led to the secured parking lot.

“You didn’t even bat an eye at that brunette who looked ready to drop on her knees in front of the crowd for you.”

I saw her out of my peripheral vision. You couldn’t fucking miss her with how hard she was trying. She shoved herself in front of a little hockey fan just to get next to me and pouted ridiculously when I skipped over her for the kid.

“If you’re interested, then you better hurry back and scoop her up before one of the guys does. I’m sure anyone will do for her.”

“I think I know what your problem is,” Marlon insisted as we approached our vehicles.

I wonder what bullshit he’ll pull out of his ass.

“What’s my problem, Cap?” I asked, unlocking the door to my 1980 Bronco, an I’m-sorry-my-years-of-mistreatment-killed-your-mother gift from my father on my 16th birthday.

“You’re suffering from Low-T. There’s no shame in it. It happens to the best of us—see a doctor and get back out there.”

“I hate to say it, Cap, but I feel like you’re living vicariously through me.” He scoffed loudly and tossed his duffle bag into the back of his Escalade.

“Tell me more, Dr. Myers.”

“Have you gotten laid since you and Shelby split?”

Marlon sighed and juggled his keys in one hand. “No, I haven’t,” he answered truthfully.

“Why not? It’s been six months.”

“That shit hits you in the gut—being cheated on, and with your own teammate at that. I don’t think I’m ready to put myself out there again.”

“It was fucked up what they did, but Connors was released from the team, and her selfishness is not a reflection on you. I know you’re not the screwing-around type—at least not anymore. You deserve to find someone who’ll make you happy.”

“I think it has less to do with what I deserve and 100% to do with me trusting another woman again.”

I nodded empathetically. “Valid. You should try therapy.”