7. Bennett

Bennett

The team gathered in the conference room to discuss our charitable and volunteer services during the season. Charles from the community relations department had just finished outlining our goals when he invited us to share our thoughts. I could feel my throat tightening as I prepared to voice my idea.

Clearing my throat, I began, "I wanted to bring up something important. As you all know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month."

Jester was quick to respond. "Yeah, I remember those pink jerseys from last year."

"Exactly. But this year," I paused for effect, "I think we can do more than just wear pink."

Tank"s eyebrow shot up; his silent question hung in the air between us.

"I was thinking we visit breast cancer patients at the hospital," I said before anyone could interrupt. "And maybe organize a fundraising campaign for research and treatment."

"I think it"s a fantastic idea," Coach said. "We could use our platform to make a real impact on the community."

Charles"s smile was broad and real. "Love the idea. We can coordinate with the hospital to schedule the visit and set up the fundraising campaign. It will take us about a week to coordinate everything."

"Count me in," Maestro said. "My aunt beat breast cancer, so this cause is close to my heart."

Coach Mack"s nod of approval sent a wave of satisfaction through me. "That"s the spirit. Let"s show our support and make a difference."

"Thanks guys," I couldn"t stop the smile spreading across my face. "Together, we can show that we're more than just a hockey team."

Xander"s grin mirrored my own. "I"m honored to be a part of this team."

A week after Charles gave his word, we found ourselves walking along the sterile halls of Summitview General Hospital. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air as hospital staff guided us toward the oncology ward. A knot tightened in my stomach, memories of my mother"s battle with breast cancer surfacing.

We split up to meet different patients, Xander and I pairing up. We spent the afternoon with patients who were fighting their own war against breast cancer. With each autograph signed, every photo taken, and each conversation shared, I felt a humbling sense of admiration for these warriors.

Later that day, we met Sarah – alone in her room and lost in thought as she gazed out the window. She looked at us, a flicker of recognition and surprise crossing her face.

"Hi, I"m Ry, and this is Xander," I said gently, trying to break the ice. "We"re with the Grizzlies."

Sarah managed a small smile. "I know who you are. My kids are big fans."

I could feel the lump in my throat grow when she mentioned her children.

"How old are your kids?" Xander asked, his voice warm and inviting.

"I have a six-year-old and a nine-year-old."

My heart clenched at her words. "When I was eight, my mom got her diagnosis." Clearing my throat, I continued, "One of her biggest fears was leaving me behind when I wasn't old enough to fend for myself."

Sarah"s eyes filled with tears. "That"s my biggest fear, too. I don't want them to grow up without their mother."

Xander stepped closer by my side, and I could feel his eyes on me. He was a sentry, protective, making sure I was doing okay.

"You"re incredibly brave, Sarah," I said. "It's obvious how much you love your kids. That love is a powerful thing – it gives strength, even in the darkest times."

She nodded, wiping away a tear. "I try to stay strong for them, but it's hard. Sometimes I feel like I'm failing them."

"You're not failing them," I said firmly. "You're fighting. That's the most courageous thing you can do. And it's okay to lean on others when you need to."

We spent the next half an hour talking with Sarah. Xander made her laugh with stories of his years playing high school and college hockey, and I shared more about my mom's journey and how she found strength in the love and support around her.

I'd always been guarded about my mother's battle, but today I'd peeled back the layers for Xander and all the patients we visited to see. When you were a scared child not understanding exactly what was wrong with your mom, but knowing it was serious enough that her life was at risk, you braced… protected yourself from feeling the pain. That didn't mean that every time I woke up in the morning, I wasn't scared that Mom had passed during the night. It didn"t mean that every day when I got home from school I wasn't afraid to hear she'd passed. I was living in two worlds: one in which I went to school, performed well during hockey games, and tried to be a good kid so I wouldn't cause added problems for my parents, and in the other, I feared for my mom's life.

My mind flashed back to my mother"s battle with breast cancer – her strength, her determination... but also the way our neighbors stepped up for the family. Taking turns babysitting me while Dad took Mom for treatments or visited her at the hospital. Bringing home-cooked meals. The list could go on. The memories of those difficult years would never fade.

Seeing Sarah's struggle brought back so many memories, but it also reminded me of the strength and resilience that came from love and support.

Yet I was happy ConMan and LoLo weren't born during that traumatic period in our family's life. Glad that the mom they knew was healthy and happy and wholly there for them.

I drew in a shaky breath and brought myself back to the present.

When we were leaving, Sarah took my hand. "Thank you, Ry. Thank you for reminding me that I'm not alone."

I squeezed her hand gently. "You"re never alone, Sarah."

Xander glanced at me as we walked down the corridor. "You okay?"

I nodded, though my mind was still heavy. "Yeah, just... thinking there's still so much to do in this fight against the disease."

He gave me a small, understanding smile. "You're making a difference, Bennett. More than you know."

I returned his smile, feeling a warmth spread through me.

Back at the team lounge, I perched on the edge of a worn leather couch.

Coach Mack stood at the center to address us about our visit. "Thanks for showing up." His eyes scanned the room. "Would anyone like to share their thoughts?

Xander, who was sitting next to me, said, "Seeing how much our visit meant to those patients... it really puts things into perspective."

Maestro nodded in agreement with Xander, his expression solemn. He shared about seeing his aunt struggle through her illness, and how today reminded him why supporting these initiatives was important.

Tank chimed in thoughtfully after Maestro finished speaking. "The kids especially… It hit me hard," he confessed quietly. "Some of them are scared their loved ones won"t make it. I wish no child had to bear that burden."

Jester took over the conversation then, looking serious for once. "I didn't realize men could get breast cancer too," he admitted sheepishly before suggesting that we include that fact in our awareness efforts.

The room filled with nods of agreement.

Not long after, the others left to get ready for practice, leaving Xander and me behind. I was emotionally drained.

I stood there, exhausted. Xander stepped closer, standing directly in front of me. I stared at him, not able to decipher the expression in his eyes. I didn't know what he read in mine, but one of his arms rose and his hand cradled the back of my head. I drew in a shaky breath and pressed my head to his shoulder. His other hand went around my shoulders. And as if my body had a mind of its own, I leaned into him. We stood like that for what seemed like an eternity.

It was a draining day spent visiting cancer patients, but somehow, standing here with Xander, leaning into his embrace made it all worth it.

Too soon, we slowly drew apart, but not before sharing a look – one that said more than any words ever could.