Part 23 (1/2)

It figured it was something like that. He had no real reason. Not only did that have me seeing red again, but I was suspended that very same day Leo told me.

I was p.i.s.sed about being suspended.

One by one, the games went by. Some were easier than others, like the ones we won, but when we lost it was difficult.

Ami tried everything to get me to cheer up, but I was hung up on it pretty bad.

My mind immediately went back to all those nights I spent sitting beside her bed, talking to her even though she wasn't awake, forgoing sleep just because I couldn't leave that girl.

One night, she tried to get me to have s.e.x with her, as if that would be the distraction I needed. It wasn't. I wasn't ready to give in. Though the discussion wasn't over, I wasn't ready to say anything else. And I wasn't sure that she was either.

”Ami, a lot has happened to you in a short amount of time. It's okay to not be okay. It's okay for us to struggle a little,” I said, sounding a bit exasperated. She flinched slightly. I caught the movement and continued, ”I just want you to know that if you need time, I understand. Ami, look at me, will you?” I lifted her chin gently to meet my gaze. Those same beautiful, bright blue eyes that met me that day she woke up found mine, familiar and full of trust. ”It's just me. Just you and me, and if you don't want that, I need to know. Don't think you have to-”

Her kiss cut me off, which was fine by me.

When she pulled away, I breathed. ”Okay,” I said after a moment, physically making myself relax and reaching up to lightly touch her cheek.

”Okay,” she repeated, placing her hand over mine. ”I know that it seems like we've just kind of been together because you were there for me, but if I wanted to leave, I would have.”

”That's all I needed to hear.” I sighed.

Playing the point This refers to the player with the puck keeping it in position for scoring a goal.

Round 4 Stanley Cup (Game 6) Philadelphia Flyers.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010.

I was just getting ready to leave for the airport. Ami was cuddled up on the couch with my cat. She named him Zamboni. Apparently, Jerk Face wasn't a good name for a cat. I didn't really think Zamboni was either, but hey, if it made my girl happy, she could name the cat.

I watched her eating her Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal she ate every morning, a habit started by Leo. When I looked at her now, her hair hanging near her shoulders, artfully styled in a crazy way that fit her personality, and those starry blues, she looked good. She was healthy, she was in love, and she was mine. I saved her, but in reality she saved me when I didn't even know I needed saving.

Sure, I could have been fine without her, but this girl was worth it.

Just as I grabbed my keys and wallet, Ami giggled, reading a text message on her phone. ”Granny B blocked the door to her room with a chair and then called in a bomb threat to save her lazy boy,” she said, completely straight-faced as she took a bite from her cereal.

”No s.h.i.+t.”

She nodded, milk dripping down her chin. She wiped her mouth with a smile and then spoke with her mouth full. ”Yep. Good times. I f.u.c.king love your family.”

I couldn't help but laugh. ”I'm surprised they didn't arrest her for that.”

”Oh, they did. Your mom decided to leave her in there over night to simmer down.” She gave a thoughtful shrug and then added, ”Poor Granny B is always getting the shaft. I don't think she'll make the game tonight.”

”Don't say shaft.”

”Why?” Her nose crinkled and then she smiled, knowing I was thinking dirty.

”Because. I have a game. I can't be distracted by words like shaft coming out of your mouth.”

Naturally, she rolled her eyes and went back to her cereal and the movie she was watching.

Ami and I had yet to have s.e.x. We'd gotten close so many times, but it was just...it was hard and even harder after the situation with Dave. He was charged last week and sentenced. He got ten years for what he did, and I was a little bent by that. He should have gotten life as far as I was concerned, but then I looked at the bigger picture. What would be the one thing that would hit home for a guy like Dave Keller?

Hockey. Hockey would because from the time he was two to thirty two, hockey was all he ever knew. He would never play again, professionally at least. That was gone for him.

So when I looked at it that way, only through the convincing of my dad, it made it a little easier to handle.

When my suspension was finally lifted, I was able to play again. It was like a weight had been lifted. It was like I couldn't move on from what happened unless I could play hockey again.

Once we arrived in Philly, I was running late to the morning skate and tried to sneak in unnoticed. My laces were cut again. Leo.

”I tried to stop him,” Ryan said, grinning.

”Yeah, sure you did.” I knew Ryan hadn't warmed up to Leo, and he was only saying that because I never stuck up for him. Regardless of laces being cut, it was good just to be back around my boys and getting ready to play on home ice.

”You're such a p.u.s.s.y,” Leo said, delivering a punch to Ryan's stomach. Everyone laughed but Ryan.

Whenever we were around Leo, we knew that salt would be replaced with sugar, our laces would be cut, and we'd often wonder why an NHL player did s.h.i.+t like that. It might seem like adolescent humor, but we needed guys like Leo. Every team had them for a reason.

The locker room was lively and bursting with energy, having made it this far in the playoffs. It was loud, and it was meant to be. Invigorating, it paced the mood of the room.

When a team found what we had, what we worked for, whether we were in a bar, on a plane, on the ice, or in the locker room, we had a noise about us. It was the type of noise that no one necessarily heard but they could feel it.

We were half-naked players, shouting for tape, laughing, cutting laces. After everything that happened that first round, the fight, the suspension, trading Travis, our team had been shaken up.

But now we'd found our noise again.

Leo shouted at Ryan and Shelby, nasty references that no one would admit were funny, but you couldn't help but laugh at how they were delivered. Jeff Westby, our veteran player, traded stories about who's best and who bagged who. It set the motion of the day, a comfortable noise that all of us had been looking for to gain focus-that little bit of edge to take on the Flyers.

Suddenly, Ryan blew up at Leo, the noise still present but in a different way. ”That's it, Leo, you cut my f.u.c.king laces one more time...”

He didn't get to finish because Leo reached down with his pocket knife and clipped the fresh laces.

”You better run,” Ryan warned before he took off after Leo.

Drew glanced over his shoulder when he heard Leo screaming like a girl in the showers. ”He's something else.”

”You have no idea.”

The talk around the room quieted when Coach walked in. Laughter halted. O'Brien wasn't always yelling; sometimes he let us have fun. All right, he was almost always yelling. That was exactly why we shut up when he walked in.

Following him across the room, he walked to the white board. His tone was the usual, calm and conversational, maybe subdued, but it often began that way, and we were never quite prepared for it. We only ever saw the screaming side.

We waited quietly.

”What we gotta do is work these guys. Get in their heads,” he said, pointing to Leo and then to the Flyers center he had written on the board. ”This is a key guy. He holds the puck and knows how to make plays, like Leo.” His voice picked up speed. ”If ya give him that f.u.c.king blue line, he'll own your a.s.s!”

Because of his song and dance, we mouthed the last few words with him. Leo and I looked at each other and smiled.

Coach yelled the line-up we'd been waiting on. I had barely played this series, and I understood why once the suspension was lifted. I had put my team in a tough spot going after Dave like that during a game. Coach had his reasons and I understood.