38. Bennett

Bennett

Exhausted from a full day of playing, I collapsed in my hotel room. But there I was, stubbornly clutching my phone for a late-night FaceTime call to Xander. We were both on the road, crammed into separate hotel rooms with our respective teammates, and time was a luxury we couldn"t afford.

It had been five days since I surprised Xander. I still couldn't believe how my team had come together to ensure I could be in Newark for his debut. It was a huge sacrifice, considering our paychecks barely cover the bills. But as Maestro said, they did it because we were family, and that was what a family did.

"Hey." Xander's face flickered onto my screen, his usual grin replaced by lines of worry etched into his forehead. It felt like an echo of my own tiredness and longing mirrored back at me. "How was your game?"

"We did good today," I said, trying to keep the weariness from seeping into my voice. "Missed you out there."

His chuckle came through tinny over the speaker, but it warmed me nonetheless. "I miss you too. We're struggling. Wish I could lean on you."

I reached for that day"s note tucked under my pillow – part of our ritual now. A small act to bridge the miles between us. It read: "Ry, remember why we do this – for the love of the game and each other. Hold onto that when times get tough."

Reading those words aloud over the call felt like letting him in on a secret part of myself – vulnerable yet comforting in its honesty. I traced over Xander"s handwriting with my thumb as if it could somehow bring him closer.

"I know it"s hard," I found myself saying, looking straight into his eyes on my screen, "but we"ll get through this."

And in that moment, despite our shared exhaustion and distance apart, I believed it too.

Five days on the road and finally, I was back home. But at practice, my mind was miles away from the frosty surface beneath me. Xander"s face kept surfacing in my thoughts. Weeks had passed since we last saw each other and our exchanges were limited to hurried texts and phone calls that left me yearning for more.

My parents too were a constant presence in my thoughts. Mom was anxious about Dad; he"d been overworking himself lately and age wasn"t exactly on his side. I could almost see her worry lines deepening every time I FaceTimed her.

Then there were Chloe and Connor, their futures hanging in the balance of college acceptances and scholarships. Chloe had it easy – her acceptance letter came with a full ride, setting her path clear as daylight. But Connor… he was still stuck halfway, his partial funding not enough to cover all of his tuition costs.

"I"ll help you find a way," I remembered telling him, this promise settling heavy on my shoulders. The responsibility seemed colossal.

Coach Mack must have noticed my distraction because he pulled me aside after practice one day. His stern gaze softened slightly as he spoke. "Ry," he said, his voice firm but kind, "we need you here, both physically and mentally. You"re a key player, but if your mind is elsewhere, it"s going to affect the whole team."

His words hit home. I started to wonder if it was time to hang up my skates and put my business degree to use. Chasing the dream of making it to the majors was thrilling, but the reality was stark: I couldn"t afford to meet my family"s needs with the money I was making. Maybe it was time to face facts and find a stable 9-to-5 job that would allow me to support them properly.

But then, a small voice inside me whispered about the importance of dreams and how giving up now could mean losing a piece of myself. The tension between my responsibilities and my ambitions was palpable, pulling me in two different directions. I had some tough decisions to make, and soon.

I nodded silently, knowing Coach was right, but I was also aware that it would take more than just words to pull me out of this whirlwind of worries swirling inside my head. My family needed me just as much as my team did – if not more – and striking a balance between these two worlds was like walking on thin ice.

The locker room echoed with the absence of bodies, most of the team already gone, leaving only Tank, Maestro, Jester and myself.

"Ry." Tank"s voice rumbled like distant thunder, "you holding up okay?" His question hung in the air like a challenge. I glanced at him.

"Honestly? It"s been rough." The admission slipped from my lips before I could stop it. A strange sensation washed over me – vulnerability. I"d never let them see this side of me before.

Maestro leaned against his locker, arms folded across his chest. "We"ve noticed," he said simply. His dark eyes held an understanding that surprised me. He wasn"t just acknowledging my struggle; he was empathizing with it.

Jester chimed in next, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a softer expression. "You"re not alone in this Ry," he offered quietly.

I stared at them for a moment – these men who were more than teammates to me now. Their support wrapped around me like armor against all the professional and personal pressures bearing down on me.

In their presence, my mask slipped further away. My mind churned with thoughts I"d kept hidden for too long: worries about performance stats, anxiety over personal issues eating away at my focus...

"I know," was all I managed to say back to them as gratitude welled up inside me. For once, I allowed myself to lean on their strength and felt a sense of camaraderie that transcended mere words or gestures.

This was us – Tank"s resilience, Maestro"s wisdom, Jester"s spirit and my own struggles – woven together into an unbreakable bond.

And for the first time, I told them my worries and fears.

Twenty-four hours later was another night of home ice battle and my skates were on fire, slicing through the rink like a hot knife through butter. Every pass, every shot was a symphony of precision, each move an echo of my promises to Connor and the love I harbored for Xander. The roar of the crowd filled my ears as the Grizzlies claimed victory and our ticket to the semi-finals.

I fumbled with my phone in the locker room after, fingers still numb from the cold. I dialed Xander"s number, knowing he"d be knee-deep in his own game. Or he could be either showering or recovering afterward, given the time difference. The call went to voicemail and I hesitated before speaking.

"Hey, Sunshine," I began, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "We won tonight… wish you could"ve seen it. Just wanted you to know… I love you."

Hanging up felt like pulling off a bandage – quick and painful. The strain of balancing everything – hockey, Connor"s expectations, missing Xander – was wearing me down. Every day was like skating uphill.

To help ease that longing for Xander, I pulled out another note from him; one for each day we were apart. His words were my lifeline; they kept me grounded when everything else was too much.

"Ry," today"s note read. "Remember why you"re doing this: For us, for your dreams. You"re stronger than you think. And remember… I"m always with you."

A smile tugged at my lips as memories flooded back of us exchanging gifts on our last night together before he left for Newark. The note of surprise in his voice as he unwrapped the gifts I'd given him.

My heart throbbed with longing but also warmth at those precious memories; they were reminders of who I was beneath the weight of my responsibilities, who I was when I was with Xander. Despite the distance, despite everything else, he was my anchor.

I folded the note and slipped it back into my pocket, a renewed sense of determination flooding me. This game wasn"t just about winning; it was about proving to myself and to Xander that I could handle anything life threw at me. That I was more than just Ry the hockey player – I was Ry the fighter, the lover, the dreamer.