10. Theo

10

THEO

My stomach churns and drinking any more water to quench this dry mouth, I'm likely to puke.

I quickly scan the stands and our benches and hope I'll spot Francesca. I don't see her in either place. I let out a sigh. Probably just as well since I need to have my full attention on this game.

I do spot my father in his normal seat. Section four, fifth row. As always, he sits stoically in his black turtleneck and black pea coat except this time he's wearing a Frostwolves scarf around his neck along with a Frostwolves stocking cap.

The Boise Bucks are one of our biggest rivals and are known around the league for starting fights on the ice. They're pumped up for this game and they came here ready to play. We'll defend ourselves, but coaches warned us to play a clean game.

My legs quiver and I can't keep my feet still in my skates as I anticipate the puck drop. It's a face-off. Game on. Tom has keen senses and is ready for it. He gets control of the puck, easily setting up a pass with our teammates and moving the puck toward our goal.

Their goalie, Bruce "Huffy" Hoffmann is ready and easily blocks our first attempt.

Now it's time for the dynamic duo —Winter Wolf and Moose— pulling out all the stops. We'll work our magic and hopefully put this game in the winner's column. Alexie and I have a keen sense of knowing exactly where the puck and net are at all times. I've never played with someone who compliments my style as much as him.

First period is a back and forth between us and the Bucks— each of us working our asses off to score. Tom sits in the penalty box for high-sticking.

Alexie scores in the second period which puts us on the board. Tom and I bring in another score and we lead the Bucks two to nothing at the end of the second.

Peter Crampton, the right defensive for the Bucks and I scramble for the puck with our sticks flying in all directions. As the scramble ensues, Crampton's stick gets under my mask, and I take a shot to the cheek. The ref calls it when my face is dripping blood. I'm out for the rest of the game and Dr. Mitchell patches me up. Six stiches.

Fuck, I'm out of the game.

The Bucks get called out for roughing and interference in the third period, which puts two of their best players in the box. They only manage one goal, and we squeak away with a win.

I fist bump Alexie on the way to the locker room. "Good game, man."

"Too bad on da face," Alexie says as he gives me a squeeze on the shoulder with that meat hook of his. "How many stitches?"

"Six."

"I put da bet on you," Alexie says with a smirk. "Before season even started."

I groan. "What bet?"

"Who has da most stitches this season. You winning." He chuckles low in his chest. "And you make me win da bets." He pumps his giant arm in triumph.

Great.

After a quick shower, I head out of the locker room and focus on escaping the mayhem of the arena.

My father is waiting near the gate, and he gestures his acknowledgement as I approach.

"Dad." I nod. "Thanks for coming out."

"You better get some ice on that," he says as he points to my cheek." He loosens the scarf around his neck. "Congratulations on the win."

"Thanks."

"See you next week for the Silver Dukes." He turns and walks away.

I watch him depart until he disappears in the crowd.

My shoulders drop and I let out a heavy sigh. The scenario that just played out is the same sad and predictable ending I've been experiencing my entire life. Never says he's proud, never says how far I've come since the time I slipped on the skates and competed in the junior league in elementary school.

I remind myself I don't do this for my father. I do this for me and for my future.

My steps are slow as I make my way toward the locker room and push past hockey players celebrating with their families.