Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  She sorts through the bags of dried fruit and mixed nuts, but nothing jumps out at her. She hasn’t hit the “voraciously hungry” or “mildly nauseous” stage yet. She’s stuck in the “everything is bleh” stage. At least her cramps are mild compared to some of the stories she heard at the Winter Games. She had teammates who can’t get out of bed some days because they’re so bad.

  She absently knocks on the wooden cabinet even though she isn’t superstitious and a stray thought won’t change her biology.

  “Jerky?” Merlin asks, hesitant as if he’s afraid she’ll snap at him again.

  It isn’t what she’d usually pick for a pregame snack, but nothing else looks good and it’s an easy way to apologize for earlier. She takes two pieces with a, “Thank you,” and sifts through the snacks again. She ends up with a Tupperware of melon and sits next to him to eat.

  They don’t talk, but it isn’t a strained silence. She’s too tired to think of anything to say, and he—well, she doesn’t know his excuse. She fussily eats her melon, picking out all the best looking pieces and leaving the rest for someone else.

  Everything improves once they’re on the ice. Their passes connect, long stretch passes and cross-ice ones as they lay siege to Vancouver’s net. They don’t have anything to show for it by the end of the period, but it isn’t for lack of trying.

  By the third period, Concord’s feeling the effects of the back-to-back. Coach shortens their shifts and uses all four lines equally, but they’re all breathing hard when they get back to the bench. Sophie’s muscles scream at her as she drops hard onto her seat. She braces her arms on the boards and watches Peets’ line skate out. She’s running on empty, wrung out the way she usually only feels after a grueling shift.

  Merlin nudges her. “We’ve got this. We haven’t battled this hard to let the game go.”

  She nods, agreeing with him. If she had the breath, she’d say something.

  Every shift turns into a battle against her own body. Her legs don’t want to move fast enough, her reflexes are a touch too slow, and her passes stop connecting. Instead of threading the puck to her teammates, she passes it into the other team’s skates or worse, onto their sticks.

  As the period winds down, they stop spending as much time in the offensive zone. It’s all they can do to keep the puck out of their own net, and they switch lines before they can begin any kind of push. Sophie knows she needs to give more, but she doesn’t have anything left to give.

  When the clock hits zero, the whole bench breathes a sigh of relief. Surviving to OT means they’ve earned at least a point tonight. It also means a short five-minute break at the bench until they have to play more.

  “We’re not done,” Coach Butler tells them. “If you settle for the pity point, you’re setting Lindholm up to fail.”

  Well, shit.

  Sophie picks up a water bottle and sprays some water on her face to wake herself up.

  She’s rocked into the boards on her first shift out. She manages to stay on her skates, but she loses the puck and has to immediately chase.

  Four shifts into overtime, she’s panting on the bench and tries to summon the energy for her next time out. Her mouth guard rests on the boards so she can suck in as much air as possible. If it’s an offensive zone faceoff, she knows the set play she wants to run. If it’s defensive zone faceoff, the best they can do is to get the puck out and hope the next line has better luck.

  But then Spitz breaks out with a burst of speed. It’s dangerous for a d-man to commit, especially this late in the game, but he passes to Peets and stays up on the rush. Sophie leans forward as Peets challenges the goalie and slips the puck under his arm and in.

  “Fucking hell,” Merlin says.

  Sophie nods her agreement and slaps his back.

  Media is extra-long because of the win, but most of them want to crowd around Lindy and ask how he feels posting a shutout after “an extended vacation.” It means Sophie isn’t the last one doing media and she celebrates with a long shower, the water as hot as she can stand it.

  When she emerges, clean and her skin pink, the cameras have all cleared out. She takes her time changing, another luxury, and one she needs right now because she feels as if she’s moving through molasses. She definitely won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight.

  “Yikes,” Merlin says as he spots the bruise curling around her side. “You should ice.”

  She’s still pleasantly flushed from her shower, and there’s even some sweat pooling in the small of her back. The last thing she wants to do is ruin her pocket of warmth. “Ice is cold.”

  Merlin stares at her, unholy glee in his expression. Witzer stops pulling his shirt over his head. A few other guys turn to look as well.

  “Ice is cold?” Merlin repeats, delighted. “What a stunning observation.”

  She tries to glare at him, but the effect is ruined when she has to cover a yawn with her hand. She settles for flipping him off and buttoning her dress shirt to hide her bruise.

  When she makes it to her row on the plane she pauses because Teddy’s in the aisle seat. She isn’t militant about traditions, and Teddy isn’t married to his routines, but this is new. He pulls his legs up so she can get by him. “Take the window. You’re two seconds from falling asleep.”

  “It’s a short flight.” She takes the window seat so she doesn’t hold up the line, but she won’t sleep. It’s safer to stay awake on planes and buses.

  “You deserve a nap. Besides, I didn’t play tonight, I can stay awake and watch over you.”

  “I don’t—” She doesn’t have the energy to lie. And, even if she did, Teddy doesn’t look like he’d believe her. “Okay.”

  He rewards her with a smile and hands over his sweatshirt. “It’s the best plane pillow I’ve ever had.”

  “Thank you.” She tucks the sweatshirt against the window and closes her eyes.

  When she wakes up, she’s resting against Teddy’s shoulder. She starts to pull away, but he shushes her and guides her head back down. “We’re not there yet.”

  “M’kay,” she says and goes back to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SOPHIE PULLS INTO the driveway with her backseat full of food. Fortunately, the Delacroix kids come out to see who’s here, and she ropes them into helping her carry everything in. She hands one of the lasagnas to Benoit Junior who holds it carefully in both arms. Catherine accepts the salad bowl, and Sabrina darts in to snatch the bag of cookies.

  “I bet I could eat them all before we get in the house.” She opens the bag and peers inside. “Chocolate chip is the best kind of cookie.”

  “You would make yourself sick.” Sophie takes the second lasagna and follows the kids up the brick walkway.

  Sabrina huffs with all the judgment a nine-year-old can muster. “Maybe, but I could still do it.”

  Aline, X’s wife, is in the kitchen with an open cooler on the counter. She looks over the procession of food and smiles fondly. “You didn’t have to do this.” Her accent is thick, and Sophie knows she’s speaking English for Sophie’s benefit.

  “I had some downtime.”

  “Clearly.” She takes the lasagna from Benoit and slides it into the fridge. Sophie puts hers on top of it. “But thank you for bringing this and for visiting.”

  “How is he today?”

  “Grumpy.” Aline closes the fridge door and taps the detailed schedule showing ice-times and painkiller doses. “He needs to ice soon.”

  “We’re going to the ice castles,” Sabrina tells Sophie. She takes four cookies out of the bag and puts them in a second bag. When no one says anything, she adds another four.

  “Eight cookies are enough,” Aline says.

  “It’s going to be really cool,” Catherine says.

  “Ice cold.” Benoit waggles his eyebrows and laughs as Catherine chases him around the counter, threatening to slap a better sense of humor into him.

  Once their lunch is packed, Aline ushers her children out of
the house. Sophie leans against the island for another moment, adjusting to the sudden quiet, before she searches for X. He’s in the living room, stretched out on the sectional. His bad leg is propped up and carefully supported. His chin is stubbled with brown and gray hairs, but it doesn’t look as if he’s cultivating a mid-season beard; rather, she has the impression he can’t be bothered to shave.

  His sweatpants are old and his shirt is older, the Condor on it from before Concord rebranded a few years back. He’s slumped against the cushions and the lines around his face make him look like he’s pushing fifty.

  “Hey,” Sophie says.

  He pauses his show and looks over at her. “What’re you doing here?”

  She sits down, careful not to jostle him. “I thought I’d drop off some dinner and do some babysitting.”

  “Aline took the kids out for the day—oh.” He rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

  She grins. “What’re we watching?”

  “NCIS. There’s a shit-ton of seasons and a bunch of spinoffs so it’s kept me entertained. I might even get off this damn couch before I’m done with the show.”

  “Is it any good?”

  She wouldn’t mind watching a couple of episodes even if it isn’t. She’s used to seeing X in the locker room where he’s a stable, comforting presence. He can give a speech to fire them up or poke Lindy into a smile. He’s one of the few who can pull Matty out of his own head. She used to him having all the answers, but right now, he’s tired. And, not in the “in the third period of a back-to-back” kind of way but a “he may not get off the couch today” way.

  Sure, she has a letter, and she’s his teammate, but she doesn’t know what to say to make this better. She’s never had an injury like this, something long term. Hopefully she never will.

  “It’s decent.” He unpauses the show but lowers the volume so they can still talk. “Did Matty put you up to this? He and Lindy keep showing up and distracting my kids with theirs.”

  “I don’t have any kids to bring over.”

  “Don’t even joke about that. I’m too weak to worry about you having kids.”

  “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

  X looks as though he wants to pursue the subject but then he says, “Matty tells me you’ve taken Spitz under your wing.”

  She huffs. “He’s two years older than me, he isn’t my kid, but yeah, I’ve been helping him. He was spooked by playing on the first pairing, but he’s relaxed some. He was thinking too much.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  Sophie thinks exactly the right amount, thank you very much. “The first pairing experience is good for him. When he was on the third, Coach would bench him for tiny mistakes. Now, he has the opportunity to play through them and learn.”

  “Look at you, being all wise. Spitz isn’t the only one getting good experience out of this season.”

  Something explodes on the TV screen, but Sophie only notices it out of the corner of her eye. X’s smile dims too fast, and she’s reminded of what Matty told her in the airport. One of the hardest things in hockey is learning how to deal with the team winning without you.

  “Spitz is only holding your spot until you come back. We aren’t moving on without you.” You’re the cornerstone of this franchise. We wouldn’t be who we are without you.

  “The team looks good,” he says. He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds as if he wants the team to move on without him. At Sophie’s frown, he sighs. “Kid, I know you’re feeling old, because you’re a half year out from no longer being a teenager but this”—he gestures to himself—“is old. I was having knee trouble before the sprain, and it’ll be worse now.”

  “The trainers said you’ll make a full recovery.” He’s talking as if…no. He’ll follow the plan, recover, and he’ll be back on the ice where he belongs.

  “I can’t play forever. Look, I’m not rushing into anything. I’m coming back from this injury, and I’ll see how I play. If I’m dragging the team down then…” He shrugs as if he’s not quite able to say the word “retire.”

  And he shouldn’t be able to. It isn’t time for him to retire. They have to make the playoffs. They have to win the Cup, and they can’t do it without him. “Did you run this by Matty?”

  “He told me he was going to get me so drunk I forgot I ever had the thought.”

  “Clearly it didn’t work.”

  “I popped one of my painkillers and told him they didn’t mix well with alcohol.”

  “He had the right idea.” Retiring? No. X is synonymous with Concord. He was the first player on the team’s roster, and they’re going to win it all for him before he’s allowed to retire. “Aren’t you sick of being stuck on the couch? Don’t you wish you were back on the ice?”

  X glares at her, the first spark of emotion she’s seen from him. “Of course I do.”

  “So why are you trying to find ways to stay off it? We’re stringing together some wins. We’re making the playoffs this year, and we need you to do it. You’ve been with us since the beginning. Don’t you want to see what we can be?”

  X takes a deep breath and looks ten years older after. “Kid, you’re the future, and it looks bright, but I don’t have enough years left in me to see it through.”

  Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. If she’d been better last year, then maybe he’d have more hope. She knows no one except herself thought she’d come and turn the team around in one season, but she thought she’d be enough. Instead, they missed the playoffs again. She has to be better this year. The team has to be better. They need to show X they’re a contender. They make the playoffs this year, show him it’s possible, then they win next year.

  He’s lifting the fucking Cup before he’s allowed to retire.

  Her phone dings with a reminder for him to ice. “I’m grabbing you an icepack and we’re talking about happier things.”

  “Like our upcoming game against Boston? You’ll be able to see your secret boyfriend. I heard his stick’s been hot lately.”

  Sophie rolls her eyes as she heads into the kitchen. She raises her voice so X can still hear her. “Dima’s not my boyfriend. And we’re snapping his point streak.”

  “Not going to let him score? You’re going to give him the ol’ shutout?”

  She grabs two icepacks and a roll of kitchen towel. “Did you sneak a painkiller while I wasn’t looking?” She returns to the couch and arranges the ice around his knee.

  X pats her head. “Remember, fight for your children to play for Canada.”

  “Oh yeah, you took something.” She finishes with the ice and tucks a blanket around him.

  By the time she takes the ice off, twenty minutes later, X is asleep. He looks more pained than he did while he was awake, as if he doesn’t have to pretend to feel better than he does. She smooths the worst of the wrinkles out of his forehead and returns the ice packs to the fridge.

  She sits down next to him and lowers the volume on his show.

  As soon as she’s home, she drops onto her couch and calls Dima. “X is thinking about retiring,” she blurts out.

  “X?”

  “Delacroix. He’s been with Concord since the beginning, but he hasn’t been to the playoffs or lifted the Cup. He can’t retire yet. I won’t let him.”

  “Most stubborn.”

  She stretches out until her toes reach the far end of her couch. She missed her nap by visiting X, and she tugs the blanket off the back of the couch as if she’s ready to make up for it. “Will we ever be old like X? I can’t imagine retirement.”

  “Still our second year. Lots of time.”

  “Yeah. We’ll play forever.”

  “Even longer than Figuli.”

  She doesn’t want to think about her favorite players retiring. “Let’s talk about something happier, like how we’re going to kick your ass when you come to town.”

  “What?” Dima squawks, outraged.

  Sophie laughs and sits up, fully aw
ake as they trash talk each other.

  They lose to Boston but snap Dima’s point streak. After the game, she meets Dima for dinner, and he pokes her about the loss, and she reminds him he doesn’t have a point streak anymore. They stop bickering long enough to share a piece of chocolate cake.

  She doesn’t know if it was all the talk about retirement or her visit with X, but she finds herself wanting to spend more time with her team. Maybe it’s because, retirement or not, this won’t be the same team they have next year. It won’t even be the same team they have headed into the playoffs.

  Mid-season trades, deadline deals, even injury, the lineup is constantly changing. For this moment, these people in the locker room are her team, and maybe realizing it could change at any time prompts her to clear her throat and say, “Surprise pizza today. The rookies haven’t had it yet.”

  “Surprise pizza!” Theo exclaims. He pulls Spitz into a friendly headlock. “You’re going to love it.”

  “I know better than to trust you.” He wriggles free and looks to Sophie as if she’ll give him an honest answer. “What’s surprise pizza?”

  She grins. “A surprise.”

  Spitz groans. Big Red throws a piece of balled-up tape at her. She catches it and flings it back at him.

  Surprise pizza is a Concord tradition. The whole team piles into a pizza joint and one teammate is tasked with writing out every ingredient available and assigning them numbers. Then, a different teammate picks two, three, sometimes five random numbers to determine the toppings on their pizza.

  Everyone has to have one bite before they’re allowed to eat whatever they actually ordered for lunch. Sauces used to be part of the ingredient list until the time they ordered a pineapple, shrimp, and olive pizza with Alfredo sauce and Wilchinski threw up. At least he made it to the bathroom first.

  Whatever expression is on Sophie’s face is enough to make Spitz back up as if he can escape without anyone noticing. He bumps into Kevlar who grins at him, and slings an arm around his shoulders to hold him in place. “Our alternate said surprise pizza which means we’re all in. No ducking out.”