He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Thirty-One: Weston | Intervention

I always thought it was bullshit whenever movies or books talked about the moment they fell in love. Love to me had always been a fictional concept saturated for the purpose of money. I'd never experienced it with my own family, and the only inkling of love I'd ever had for someone else was with my niece, Sage. And though I love Eli and RJ, it's a different type of liking.

But yesterday, when I watched Gracie rehearse for her show, there was this stutter in my chest I'd never experienced before. The light cast a tunnel glow over her as she sang the song with grace and ease. I sat to my seat, absolutely mesmerized by everything about her: her voice, the way she moved her body, her smile. If there was ever a single moment where I fell for my roommate, it'd be then. I could've watched her forever.

Since Halloween, she's been ignoring me on purpose and it's slowly killing me. Everytime I hear someone come down the steps or turning the corner, I whip my head at the speed of light hoping it's her. But it never is. All I want to do is see her face and touch her. It's like being deprived of oxygen. When one of us is on campus, the other is at home. She's been busy with her rehearsals and we're right in the heat of playoffs. We've won the last two (neither of which Gracie attended) and if we win this next game, we make it to the semi-finals. Our school has been on a winning streak the last several years. A good chunk of the school's funding goes towards hockey. That's how much is riding on this game. Tons of NHL scouts have attended our home games in the past searching for their next star player. While I should be excited, I'm only dreading it. Even though this is my final year in college, I have absolutely zero idea what to do after graduation. People assume I'd want to stick with hockey forever, but as post-grad will be here in the blink of an eye, I'm not sure that a contract with the NHL is what I want to see around the corner.

Coach Evans thought he could dump my chances of playing professionally by making me center. Jokes on him though because it turns out that I play a damn good center when I'm in a shitty mood. Actually, I play better on the ice overall when I feel like shit.

With the combined stress of the future mixed with Gracie giving me the cold shoulder at every opportunity, you bet your ass I've been upping my stakes. It's weird. For most people, they need to be in a good mood to excel at their sport. I've somehow molded into the opposite. With this suppressed rage rising inside me, I've been skating faster, shooting harder and checking the others more. There's all this unspent energy begging to be released on the ice. This fact doesn't go unnoticed by the guys.

We're squeezing in an extra practice before tomorrow night's game (a last minute decision as team captain since the semi-finals are coming in close, although, it might've also been because I can't stand being at home) when Coach hollers at me. "Weston! Get your ass over here!"

I squirt water into my mouth before skating to the opposite end of the rink. I find the others already in a semi-circle, glowering at me. I glower right back. "What is this? An intervention?"

Benny is holding an ice pack to his left cheek. Jacobs has his right arm in the position of an invisible sling. Tyson looks like he wants to kill me right here and now, spitting onto the ice with a disgusting passion. "What's up with you today? You trying to kill us?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snide back.

Coach butts in. "You checked two people within five minutes. Practically broke Jacobs arm" he barks, waving his clipboard around in furious circles.

"This is hockey. You check people in hockey" I snap.

"They were on your team, Weston." Coach gestures towards Benny, who dramatically shifts his ice pack.

"Try skating faster" I murmur.

RJ skates up next to me, yanking my arm, which basically translates to: Shut the hell up. "Cut Weston some slack, guys. He's going through some stuff."