19. Sean

19

Sean

The locker room's buzzing with the kind of energy only a hard-earned win can generate. My teammates are a riot of laughter and backslaps, their victory chants echoing off the walls as they start planning the night's festivities.

"Come on, Ice, you gotta celebrate with us! First round's on the rookies!" Josh, our goalie, hollers.

But as tempting as it is to join in the revelry, a part of me hesitates. The image of Aubrey and Luke flashes in my mind, a reminder of the promises I've made, of the new path I'm trying to forge.

"Nah, you guys go on without me. Got some celebrating of my own to do," I respond, trying to keep the mood light.

The ribbing that follows is as predictable as a power play goal. "Oh, look at Mr. Domesticated here! Too good for his team now that he's a married man?" they tease, their laughter a mix of mockery and genuine amusement.

"Yeah, yeah, keep it up. Just remember who's leading in assists," I shoot back, the camaraderie of the team a balm to the sting of their jabs.

As the locker room slowly empties, the reality of the evening settles in. The win was great, but it came at a cost. My shoulder, the one that's seen more ice packs than a convenience store freezer, is screaming in protest. The game was rough, a series of checks into the boards leaving me feeling like I'd gone a few rounds with a heavyweight champ.

Alone now, I eye the bottle of pain meds sitting in my locker. The usual two pills aren't going to cut it tonight, not with the way my shoulder's throbbing. I hesitate, the warnings about dependency and the slippery slope of pain management echoing in the back of my mind. But the promise of relief wins out, and I down three pills instead, chasing them with a swig of water.

As the pills start to work their magic, dulling the sharp edges of the pain, I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Aubrey doesn't know about this, about the price I pay to stay in the game, to chase the dream that's been both my salvation and my curse.

I pack up my gear, my thoughts a tangled mess of adrenaline, pain, and the nagging worry about what lies ahead. The celebration outside feels miles away, a world apart from the quiet introspection of the locker room.

So there I am, zipping through the sky at the crack of dawn, Milwaukee-bound with visions of my bed dancing in my head. But the universe, in its infinite wisdom, decides to crank up the volume on my shoulder's greatest hits—pain edition. I reach for the meds, popping a couple in hopes of silencing the internal screams. It's like trying to put out a fire with a shot glass of water, but hey, a guy can dream, right?

By the time the plane’s wheels hit the pavement, that sweet relief has me feeling like I'm floating a few inches above reality. Soon I’m behind the wheel of my car, the open road before me morphs into a psychedelic journey, minus the fun colors and with all the added bonus of a shoulder that's decided to play its own tune.

Driving through Milwaukee with my head in the clouds, I'm not just Sean Ice; I'm captain of the SS Spacy, navigating through a sea of painfully slow drivers.

"Seriously, grandma, pedal on the right!" I bark at a car that's probably going the speed limit but feels like it's parked. My fuse is shorter than a power play against us, and my mood's swinging faster than a fight on the ice.

I'm a pro on the ice, sure, but behind the wheel with my brain on a pain med holiday? Let's just say, it's not my finest hour. The urge to just park the car and take a nap right there on the highway shoulder is real. But the thought of Aubrey's smile and Luke's laughter waiting for me at the ranch? That's a hit to my senses, reminding me why I'm muscling through.

Finally making my way onto the ranch's familiar drive, the sight is like the first sip of a cold beer after the longest game. Home.

But let's be real; pulling up to my newly minted family unit while riding the med-induced spacetrain? Not exactly the highlight reel I'm aiming for.

Rolling up to the ranch, I'm finally on the home stretch, ready to crash into the warm welcome of family life. But no, the universe has one more curveball for me. One of the cows, deciding it's her day for a little freedom, is casually munching grass on the wrong side of the fence. Great.

"Seriously?" I mutter to myself, my mood already simmering on the edge of a boil-over. Parking the car, I hop out, ready to play cowboy. "Come on, Bessie, party's over," I coax, trying to herd the wayward cow back to her pals. It's like negotiating with a particularly stubborn wall.

Finally, after a dance that'd put Dancing with the Stars to shame, Bessie's back with the gang, and I'm scanning the horizon for someone to blame. I catch one of the ranch hands, a good kid but clearly dropping the ball today.

"Hey, what's the deal with the escape artist here?" I ask, more bark than bite, but the crankiness is hard to shake off. The kid mumbles something about a gate not latching properly, and I'm rubbing the bridge of my nose, counting to ten in my head.

"Just... make sure it doesn't happen again, yeah?" I grumble, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended.

With the cow crisis averted, I head into the house, the promise of family time the light at the end of this very long tunnel. Luke's reaction to seeing me is like a shot of adrenaline, his pure joy infectious. "Uncle Sean!" he cheers, and just like that, I'm grinning like an idiot, all the irritations melting away at the sight of him.

Aubrey's there too, looking like every reason I rush home. But she's got this sixth sense, I swear, picking up on my mood before I can even fully step into the room. "Everything okay?" she asks, one eyebrow arched in that way she has that tells me I'm not fooling anyone.

"Yeah, just had to wrangle a cow before coffee. You know, typical Monday," I joke, but the weariness is clinging to me like a bad penalty call.

Luke's chatter and energy fill the room, a welcome distraction from the ache in my shoulder and the fuzziness in my head. Aubrey, though, she's watching me, her eyes soft but probing.

Dragging myself through the morning with all the grace of a rookie on his first skate, I'm about as steady as a house of cards in a wind tunnel. "I'm beat. Gonna crash for a bit," I announce, the weight of the world—or at least the weight of my eyelids—bearing down on me.

Aubrey offers up a lifeline. "Coffee? Might help wake you up," she suggests, her concern wrapped in the warm aroma of freshly brewed hope.

But coffee's not going to cut it. "Nah, need to sleep this off," I counter, feeling like my head's filled with more cotton than the medicine cabinet.

En route to refuge—also known as our bed—I make intimate acquaintance with a side table. Not intentionally, mind you. The crash is spectacular, a symphony of tumbling frames and the clatter of knick-knacks making a break for freedom. "Ah, come on!" I grumble, my day just piling on the hits.

Luke, bless his little heart, jumps into action, a mini rescue team with a mission. "I help!" he declares, scooping up fallen soldiers with the dedication of a cleanup crew.

I lean down to assist, a move I immediately regret as the room decides to take me for a spin. The pills, those traitorous little tablets, are doing a number on me, turning my system into a carnival ride I don't remember buying tickets for.

Aubrey's radar for trouble is beeping off the charts. "Sean, what's going on? Have you been drinking?" she probes, her voice laced with a mix of worry and the slightest edge of suspicion.

My patience, already frayed, snaps. "No! Just let it be, alright? I'm just tired," I snap back, more bite in my words than I'd intended. Great, Sean, way to keep it cool.

Luke's voice cuts through the tension, small and concerned. "Uncle Sean ok?"

I'm teetering on the brink here, trying to maintain some semblance of dad decorum in front of my kid. "Yeah, buddy, Uncle Sean’s just... really tired," I muster, plastering on a smile that feels about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

With a last look at Aubrey, one that I hope conveys a mix of apologies and 'I'll explain later,' I beat a hasty retreat. "Gotta lie down," I mumble, making my exit stage left before I do or say something I'll regret.

As I stumble away, the sound of Aubrey and Luke cleaning up my mess follows me, a sobering reminder of the tightrope I'm walking. The desire for sleep battles with the gnawing guilt in my gut. But one thing's clear: I need to sort myself out, for their sake and mine.

Diving into the shower like it’s the locker room after a playoff win, I’m on a mission to wash away the aftermath of a med-induced fog thicker than a San Francisco morning. I twist the knobs, letting the water hit me cold enough to make a polar bear wince, hoping it’ll snap me back to reality.

Balancing on legs that feel more like spaghetti than the pillars of an athlete, I'm wrestling with my conscience. Aubrey and Luke—the dynamic duo that’s turned my world from a solo act into the greatest team-up since peanut butter met jelly.

And here I am, nearly fumbling everything right at the crucial moment. Aubrey deserves my best game, not me sitting on the sidelines, and Luke? That kid should be living carefree, not worrying about his dad's next misstep.

After letting the shower run cold enough to jolt me back to reality, I turn it off, a shiver that's more than just the cold snaking down my spine. Wrapped in a towel, I feel like I'm walking a tightrope, but if anyone can make it across, it's me, Sean Ice.

I stagger to bed, my steps unsure but propelled by a resolve as solid as anything I've ever set my mind to. The bed catches me unexpectedly, a bit like life lately—unprepared but ultimately where I need to crash. And just like that, I'm out, the world fading away before I can even think about what comes next.

But even in the grasp of sleep, my mind's racing. I owe Aubrey more than just apologies; I owe her a gesture that screams, "I might have stumbled, but I'm getting back up." And Luke, my little champ, he deserves the best version of me, not this shadow I've been lately.

So here's the play: Wake up, shake off the haze of the meds like they're bad habits, and start showing my number ones that I'm here for more than just the moments that pass by in a blur. Because being part of this team, our family, means stepping up in the big moments, being there for the assists that count, and scoring the life goals that really matter. It's about more than just surviving; it's about thriving, both for me and for the people I love most.