Sidelined Love: A Hockey Romance (The Crestwood University Series Book 1)
Sidelined Love: Chapter 12

The locker room is about as chaotic as you’d think it would be on game day. Nerves are running rampant as we suit up in our hockey gear.

Much like every game, today is about getting out there and doing the best we can. It also means having to see my father for the first time since I got back to school. It’s the last thing I want to deal with. A loud shout draws me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see what is going on.

“Hey, watch it!” Knox snaps as Wilder playfully shoves him, nearly causing a crash into Blaise, who’s taping his stick, lost in his own world.

“Relax, it’s just pregame jitters,” I say, trying to cut the tension because there’s a chance this could escalate. Knox shoots me a look but doesn’t say a word.

“Or it’s Wilder being an ass,” Asher chimes in from across the room.

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” Wilder replies, bumping fists with Asher before eyeing me. “Right, Cap?”

I can’t help but chuckle at the antics. “Yeah, someone’s gotta do it,” I reply, pulling on the last of my equipment. “But keep in mind that someone better not rack up penalties before the game even begins.”

I catch Asher’s eye and nod—our silent signal that it’s time to come together. The whole hockey team moves into place in the center of the locker room.

Coach Johnson walks up to us and starts his pregame speech. “Alright, each of you has prepared for this moment. You’ve bled, sweat, and pushed past your limits to be right here, right now.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as he looks at each and every one of us. “We are going to go out there and play smart and tough.”

Coach runs through some last-minute strategies and guidance before going through tactical strategies for each position before he wraps up his talk.

“When you step out on the ice today,” Coach Johnson’s voice softens slightly, “remember why you play this game. Remember who you play for—your family watching you proudly from those stands, your coaches who’ve seen something great in each of you, and most importantly,” he places a firm hand over his heart then extends it toward us all, “play for yourselves and each other.”

Coach’s words hang in the air, and he looks over at me and gives me a single nod. It is my turn to speak.

I step forward, feeling the weight of the captain’s “C” on my chest. “Alright, listen up.” My voice isn’t as stern as Coach’s, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job. “You heard Coach Johnson’s words. Today’s is about showing everyone what we’re made of out there.”

I look around at the faces of my team and I can’t help but feel as if we’re going out there to battle on the ice. Each one of these men is a brother-in-arms, and I will do everything I can to help them.

“We grinded hard for this moment. This opportunity. Remember those drills that had us ready to collapse? I’m pretty sure I heard Blaise sobbing uncontrollably,” I continue with a wry smile. My joke draws a few chuckles from the group because that has never happened. “The sprints that had us ready to throw the towel in? They were done to prepare us for now.”

I pause, willing to bet everyone in the room can feel the physical and mental anguish that flew through our bodies during those grueling practices. “When we hit the ice in just a few short minutes, we leave everything out there.”

“And yes,” I acknowledge with a glance toward Wilder from his earlier antics, “we keep each other on our toes. We challenge each other because we know that’s how we improve and get better. But more than anything else, we have faith and trust in one another.”

The room nods in unison, and I wait a few seconds before I continue.

“We’re more than just a team, we’re family.” I let the word roll off my tongue. Family is a concept that means different things to each one of us because of our different experiences in life yet somehow unites us all. “So, let’s go show them what this family can do! On three, Red Wolves! One. Two. Three.”

“Red Wolves!”

Our shout is followed by an uproar from my teammates. The energy is bursting at the seams. Everyone is amped up and ready to go. The pregame jitters are still there, but I prefer them to be.

If they aren’t, then I don’t love this sport anymore and I’ll need to find something else to enjoy.

Our team leaves the locker room and goes through the tunnel. The air is cold and crisp, and every step I take reminds me it’s that much closer to game time.

I lead the team onto the rink and just before we begin our warm-ups, I look out into the crowd. As I expected ahead of time, I find my father sitting in the stands. But I am surprised to see my mother here as well.

For most people, it isn’t an issue to have their parents at their sporting event, ready to cheer them on. But for me, it’s different. I wish neither of them were here. I’d have told them to stay home if I could have. Mom isn’t nearly as bad as Dad, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is the last thing I want.

Dad’s face barely hides his anticipation while Mom looks somewhat indifferent, almost numb to it all. When she spots me looking over at them, however, she gives me a small smile and wave. I do the same back and as she prepares to tap my father, I turn away.

I push their images aside along with any thoughts that threaten to distract me from the game. I can’t let their presence here get to me or else it’s going to throw me off my game.

The warm-up starts with some light skating around our half of the rink. Asher joins me on a few laps, but he doesn’t say a word. Words aren’t needed. We’ve done this routine together so many times that it will be stitched in our memories for eternity.

Knox catches up with us and is the first to speak. “Ready to beat their asses?” he asks casually, as if we’re just discussing plans for the next party that is going to be thrown.

“Always,” I reply.

As we begin drills, they, too, feel like they are ingrained in my brain. It’s muscle memory at this point, and that’s how it should be.

Coach Johnson blows his whistle signaling for us to gather around him one final time before the match officially begins. After that, we break off and take our positions as the starting lineup is announced. I wait for the announcer to say my name, and as soon as he does, it is followed by cheers that send even more adrenaline through my body.

The referee signals to us that it’s time for a face-off.

I skate to the center circle, and I swear I can feel every eye in the crowd on me. Opposite me, my counterpart mirrors my stance, our eyes locked on the puck in the referee’s hand. It’s as if time slows down for just a moment.

As I crouch, the referee’s hand hovers over the ice and everything else fades because the only thing that matters is the puck and my opponent.

Before I can blink, the black disk drops to the ice and that is all I can see.

It’s game time.

With a swift flick of my stick, I direct the puck toward Asher. The game is in motion and our team moves as if we’re in sync with one another.

We have no issue with dominating from our first possession. In the stands, I can feel the electricity coming from the crowd, and it grows with each goal we score. It fuels me, and I’m sure the rest of my teammates feel the same.

As the game continues, I steal a glance at my parents again during a brief moment that I’m on the bench. They’re on their feet now, my mom is clapping along with the rest of the fans, but I can’t say the same for my father. He’s turning slightly red from yelling. It’s easy for me to guess that he’s probably yelling about the things he feels I’m doing wrong and what I need to do in order for me to be better in his eyes.

Same shit. Different day.

I look over at Coach Johnson’s face as it breaks into a rare grin. At this point, if we’re winning and he’s happy, that’s all that matters.

The game continues until the final buzzer blows. The crowd is still on their feet as we celebrate winning our game. I slow down and circle the rink, relief flowing through my veins. Everything has paid off as we can add the first win to our season.

And it feels so damn good.

The players from both teams join us on the rink and we line up to shake hands and thank each other for a good game. The handshakes are quick and I’m willing to bet each player is trying to calm down from the high that comes with playing this game. There will be time later to start thinking about what went right and what went wrong during this match.

When all of my duties on the ice are complete, I skate off toward the exit leading directly to the locker rooms. Coach Johnson finds me and puts a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Good work out there,” he says.

I nod, happy about the compliment. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Don’t forget you have to meet with the media in a little bit.”

“I won’t forget.”

In the locker room, the energy is contagious. Everyone is happy, and I’m willing to bet some of the chatter I’m hearing around me has to do with a party or two that will be happening in celebration. Asher slaps my back as he passes by toward his locker.

“Excellent work,” he says.

“It was all a team effort,” I reply with a grin because it’s true. It truly was and I couldn’t be prouder of how we did.

I remove my gear and take a few minutes to catch my breath. The evening winds down as the interviews with local and national media outlets conclude. While I don’t mind the actual act of being interviewed, having to answer the same questions over and over again becomes repetitive after a while.

Once that is done, I’m finally able to be back with the team. I listen to Coach Johnson’s wrap up of our performance before hitting the showers. Later, while exiting the arena in street clothes with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I spot my parents waiting outside with fans that want to see us leave.

This confrontation is something I should have anticipated after seeing them in the stands tonight, but I didn’t. While I wish I could just walk away from them, I know it isn’t the right way to go about this, especially since my mother hasn’t done anything wrong.

Taking in a deep breath, I make my way over to where they’re standing. I can see my mother’s eyes light up, her smile warm and genuine. My father, however, has an all-too-familiar look on his face and I know he’s about to dissect my performance. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Great game tonight, honey!” my mother exclaims as she pulls me into a tight hug. I return the embrace.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say.

My father clears his throat, and I turn to face him.

“You did alright,” he offers with a small nod. “But there were moments where your focus obviously wasn’t there.”

“Dad, please. Can we just be happy about tonight? We won the game and that’s what matters right now.”

My father pauses, looking taken aback by my interruption even though he should have been expecting it. I usually stop him before he can do too much damage with his words, but that doesn’t mean the anticipation of being criticized doesn’t cut me up inside.

“But you know there’s always room for improvement and we should discuss this while it’s still fresh,” he says.

“I know, Dad. I just… not tonight.”

“Very well,” he says, but I know this is only a temporary truce. “We can talk strategy some other time. Maybe I’ll call you tomorrow?”

As if I don’t already have a coach, teammates, and other staffers that I can talk strategy with. But at least he isn’t going to say another word about it tonight. At least I can be happy about that. Small talk between my mother and me is what fills the silence until we reach my car. We say our goodbyes and I promise to call Mom later in the week.

A curt nod is all I get from my father.

After they walk away, I sit in my car for a moment before I snatch my phone from my pocket. I stare at Hailey’s number for a moment before my fingers fly across the screen. I’d been sitting on information about my schedule since this morning and now is the perfect time to let her know.

I need a little pick-me-up, and sending her a text is the perfect way to do it.

Once I read over my message, I press send and toss my phone into the passenger’s seat. The further away it is from me, the less likely I will have the urge to check it while I’m driving home.

Now, I only have to wait for her response.

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