Page 14 of Poetry On Ice
Check your DMs, Robbie. Please, I love you.
It’s like a car crash. You know you shouldn’t look. You know you’re going to regret it and feel a little queasy if you do, but you can’t help it. No matter what you do, no matter how much you reason with yourself, you can’t help but look.
6
Robbie McGuire
We just landed inVancouver and are in the process of boarding the bus to the hotel. We’re playing a matinee game tomorrow, so we’ll fly out straight afterward. I’m psyched for the game. I love this city. The people are friendly, the women are hot, and the Vultures are a team we beat five times out of six when I played for the Wranglers, so I know it can be done.
As soon as the bus pulls out, I hit play on a recording I made of the Vipers’ goal song. The horn makes a long, low sound that drags out and is guaranteed to send a tremor of excitement through anyone who loves hockey. The second the horn fades, the heavy thud of drums and the whine of the electric guitar fills the air. Bodie whoops and puts his hands in the air, raising the pitch of his voice and all but screaming the chorus of The Weather Girls classic, “It’s Raining Men,” changing the words to, “It’s raining goals.”
His enthusiasm gets a few chuckles, and the next time I play the horn, Katz and Pejic sing along, bringing some much-needed bass to the arrangement.
By the time we pull into the forecourt of the hotel, every single guy on the team is singing along, laughing their asses off, whistling and hollering. Luddy is sitting up front with Coach, looking back, smiling till his eyes close, scrunching up his nose as he sings along. The mood is electric, and holy shit, I love it. I love being part of a team. There’s nothing like it. It’s a crazy bond that’s hard to put into words or explain if you haven’t been part of one.
I was feeling super shitty last night, stressed and beating myself up about my stats and my performance since I got to Seattle. It took me a while to figure out what was bumming me out so hard, but eventually, I realized what’s been missing.
This.
A team.
A bus full of brothers.
Even if you take Decker and me out of the equation, we’ve been playing like individuals with talent instead of a team. Coach has had us watch our games, breaking down plays and analyzing what worked and what didn’t, but it didn’t hit me until last night. I spent hours watchinggame videos once everyone left my place. There’s so much talent in this bunch that it was hard to spot, but once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. I admit I’m guilty of it. This shit with Decker has gotten under my skin and affected my performance. I’m not the only one. We’ve been playing hockey that’s technically good without any heart.
I’m going to make it my mission to change that.
The bus slows, breaks hissing, when we arrive at the hotel. As we disembark, one of the rookies, Lewis, gets his finger caught on something. He curses and shakes his hand in pain a couple of times. Bodie’s close by when it happens, so he goes over to assess the damage. He looks around to find our athletic trainer, Josh, but he isn’t around.
“Robbie,” he calls, gesturing for me to come over. “It’s not all that deep, but it’s bleeding. Do you still have that first-aid kit your mom gave you?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s in my bag, let me get it.”
“You carry around a first-aid kit?” Decker’s voice finds me from the shadows. He says it as if it’s not quite the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, but it’s up there.
Bodie is at my side immediately, educating Decker with a detailed explanation that comes with a little chin wag at the end of it. “Actually, Decker, Robbie’s mom isa doctor, and she hooks him up with a mean first-aid kit every season. It haseverythingin it. Disinfectant spray, antibiotic cream, sterile wipes, an emergency blanket, bandages, and even that glue doctors use instead of stitches.”
“Yeah, but, like, I leave the emergency blanket at home because it takes up too much room in my bag,” I tack on lamely.
Decker doesn’t roll his eyes exactly, but he lets out an exasperated huff and throws a pained look over the top of my head, which is kind of the same thing. It activates me immediately. My palms heat and start to sweat as I find a Band-Aid in my kit and hand it to Lewis.
Decker saunters over, watching me critically as I spritz the cut with wound spray. His head is tilted slightly, forcing him to look down his nose more than his height alone necessitates. That activates me more. “You know we have Josh for this kind of shit, right? It’s kind of his job to deal with things like this.”
I hang back once Lewis is patched up, waiting until Decker is the only one within earshot, and say, “You know people can see when you visit their profile page, right?” even though I promised myself I wouldn’tbring it up.
His eyes widen till there’s a clear ring of white around his pupils and his jaw drops. Fury glimmers so darkly that I decide it’s best to turn on my heel and catch up with Bodie and Luddy.
7
Robbie McGuire
There’s a persistent tapon my door. It starts softly, rousing me just enough to wrench me from the black sinkhole of deep sleep. When I open my eyes, it’s quiet, so I drift off, only to be wrenched out of my slumber again. It’s happened three or four times now, a dull knock of knuckles on wood that won’t go away.
Who is this asshole? It’s the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake.
“Go’way,” I mumble.
It doesn’t stop.