different as people, but I knew Lily well and I know she would have found Rey brave, funny and strong. And somehow, knowing that softens me toward Rey.
I stay in the training room as long as I can, enjoying the solitude as I stretch and roll all my muscles. But eventually, I have to go back into the locker room to dress.
I’m just getting started when Anton walks up and gives me a once over.
“Did you piss?” he asks me.
I grin in response. “Are you really asking me that like you’re my mom?”
He hikes up his brows in response. “You usually piss after you stretch, before you put all your gear on. I’m just asking because you don’t get to leave the game like the rest of us, man.”
“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t need to go today.”
Anton shrugs and says, “Might want to try, man.”
I bust out a laugh. “Christ, dude. I can’t believe you just told me to try to go potty like I’m a little kid.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“I know.”
He’s right, though. I stop putting on my gear and go take a piss. There’s nothing worse than a game that goes long when you’ve got to go. I have to be careful what I eat for a full twenty-four hours before every game so I don’t feel a sudden urge to shit during a game. Goaltenders wear a lot more gear than anyone else on the ice and we can’t just go drop our pants and piss real quick. Everything’s tied together. Not to mention, like Anton said, I rarely get to leave a game.
We’re playing the Austin Comets tonight, and I can’t fucking wait to get onto the ice. They beat us 3–2 in our last matchup, and all of us are charged up as we huddle in the locker room.
“Light ‘em up, boys!” Anton yells as we break and head out.
Our home crowd is like no other. Chicago fans are die-hard, and they bring a fierceness to our arena that fuels us. I never want to play anywhere but here.
I stretch in front of the goal as I wait for the puck to drop, keeping myself loose. And like I do before every game, I wave to the group of female season ticket holders who call themselves my fan club. One of them is holding up a sign that says, “Jonah gives me a bonah.” I’m definitely gonna hear about that one in the locker room later.
Once the game starts, my mind goes into the zone. A lot of what I do is automatic, but I also have to make decisions based on who has the puck and how they play.
The Austin star forward, Casey Rogue, is deliberately unpredictable. I have to stay on my toes every second with him. But Lennox McCall, he’s a one-trick pony. He always shoots too soon, wanting the glory of a long shot that somehow makes it in.
Rogue gets one in on me, tapping it into a corner of the net. But our offense is on fire, and we win the game 4–1. Austin’s starting goaltender is out with a hip injury, and their backup never stood a chance against our first line.
Back in the locker room, I close my eyes as I stand under the hot spray from the showerhead, all my physical and mental energy depleted for the day. These days all I like to do after a game is go home and eat the half-pound burger I have delivered from a local restaurant after every home game. I catch a little SportsCenter and go to bed. Partying after games has never been my thing, especially since I got married young.
After the shower, I dress in a dark suit and I’m tying my Blaze-red tie when one of the PR interns approaches and says, “Hey, they want you for press.”
I groan and nod. Fuck. I was hoping to slide out without doing interviews tonight, but no such luck.
I go to the media room, and I’ve barely even gotten through the doorway when there’s a microphone shoved in my face.
“Jonah, who’s this mystery woman you’re dating?”
I lower my brows with disdain at Jessica Moore, a reporter for a Chicago sports blog.
“Do you have any questions about the game?” I ask her.
“I have questions about your game,” she says playfully. “Come on, Jonah, your fans want to see you find love again. We’re all dying to know. Who is she?”
Jessica irritates me in every possible way. She