Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,52

miss a game or a chance to coo about what a fine young man I’m becoming.”

That’s, oddly enough, true.

They believe Gillette is the social pain in the ass I need in my life.

That everyone, especially those more introverted, need an extrovert to rely on.

According to Dad, it helps me grow and develop skills that are becoming increasingly scarce among the digital age, and according to Mom, his devotion to physical challenges keeps me unconsciously dedicated to my own.

He also became like an extra son to them after his mom died.

They always cheered him on at the games.

They made sure he had somewhere he was always welcomed for dinner.

They had an open-door Vacation policy – although that applied to both him and Crash.

My parents have loved Gillette for years the way I think his own father is finally learning to.

I think the fact they’re both getting therapy is helping the transition come about.

Mo sneers at the last statement regarding their high praise prior to offering Crash, “Want it?”

Crash meets my gaze once more, though this time it’s riddled with sass. “Absolutely.”

I force a smile to my face, knowing if I try to say a single word, I’ll stutter, and my true nervousness will show.

I don’t know exactly when he last saw me play.

However, I do know having him in the audience is going to add a bit of unforeseen pressure I didn’t see coming in the fucking volunteer league.

This was a terrible fucking idea.

Okay.

Of course, it was a terrible fucking idea.

It was Gillette’s.

Letting the knowledge that the person you’re seeing is in the stands watching and cheering for you be the fuel for you to play harder is asinine.

I don’t mean asinine like how hard of a concept it is for people to grasp the difference between Free Verse and Blank Verse poetry, but asinine like playing hide-and-seek in the dark with shoes that light up.

That is still one of the stupidest things I can think of Crash doing when we were kids.

It always got him caught first, which meant I was always caught next given that I was somewhere nearby.

Having him here…watching…watching beside all my friends and family has me so worked up that it has, effectively, erased all the energy I previously dedicated to putting my mind and body on the same track for optimal performance.

I need to get my head in the game and out of the stands.

I need to do what it is I do best on this ice.

I need to protect someone.

Everyone.

Starting with our left wing.

He’s our best shot at scoring since he plays for an actual club outside of this.

Our leader on the ice quietly mutters to us the play he wants executed, and luckily for me, it’s an easy one. I take my position for the face off, adjust the grip on my stick, and condense the multitude of mixed emotions into one singularity.

Force.

The puck drops and is swiftly slapped in our favor. One of my fellow Lions, Roche, thankfully gets possession and prepares to push the gameplay towards the Panthers’ goal for potential scoring. Our team fights to keep control every skate of the way; however, our opponents are overly aggressive. There’s high sticking left and right. There’s hooking. Slashing and cross-checking that should be called, yet isn’t. Either the refs don’t know better or can’t see it or are being paid not to do anything about it. That injustice, combined with the thoughts of Jevin cornering Crash the way one of the Panthers is currently doing to my teammate, Hale, who has the puck, propels me across the ice and straight to the hovering player. He hits the wall with a heavy thud, momentarily freeing Hale to make a pass to the waiting wingman. The player attempts to push past me to stop it from happening and is met by a much harder check than the last. This time he flails around, losing his balance on his skates. His ass falls flat on the ground as if in shock that a single shoulder strike from me could do that.

It can.

It often does.

My size may be the butt of many fucking jokes, but it is also the backbone of a good defense.

This position is one where size does matter.

This position is one where knowing how to shift your weight, the way most of these pricks I go to school with shift their parents’ pull, is how you become the last-man-standing on the ice.

Or, get sent to the Sin Bin.

Either way.

If I’ve done my