Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Hey,” someone said in objection.
“Guys, I need your attention right now,” I said.
Everyone huddled nearby as I told them what was up.
“I’m staying,” I said. “I’m going to wait in the locker room until we hear more from security. But it’s up to each of you if you want to stay or go. And if you choose to go, it’s okay. No one will fault you for it. We may have to delay the start of the game.”
“I’m staying,” Beau Fox said.
“Yeah, same,” Colby said.
A third line forward named Beck Mason spoke up. “I’m sorry, guys, but I have to go. I just…”
He was too emotional to continue, and Dom put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, man. You have to take care of yourself.”
Beck nodded and cleared his throat. “If they find the guy and say we’re good, I’ll come back.”
He left quickly, and the rest of us sat down in front of the dressing room booths we were sharing with the university’s college players this season. I had only worn my Coyotes game sweater for pictures so far, and after an eight-month hiatus, I was ready to play.
The mood in the room had shifted. No one was laughing or talking now. We just sat in silence, all of us lost in our own thoughts.
Some of these guys had been trapped in the locker room the day of the explosion. The door had been blocked by rubble and they’d had to wait for rescue, hoping there wouldn’t be another explosion before they got out.
Colby kept eying the door, seemingly reminding himself that he could go if he wanted to. Or maybe he was fighting the urge to do it. Another teammate, Logan Williams, sat with his legs spread, elbows on his knees, looking at the ground. Part of me wanted to stand up and tell everyone we were getting the hell out of here.
Oddly enough, everything I’d learned about being a man had been taught by my mother. My father had run out on her when I was a baby and never returned. She’d taught me that real men stay for the people they’re responsible for, even when it’s hard.
I stood and picked up a soccer ball our trainers had brought in, tucking it against my side.
“Let’s go,” I said, nodding toward the door. “Everyone.”
Lots of hockey players liked to kick around a soccer ball before games. They usually did it in groups of eight or so, but we had twenty guys in our circle. We took turns kicking it before it could bounce, everyone getting a good laugh when Dom headed the ball directly into Beau’s balls.
We’d been at it for almost ten minutes when Mila came running down the hallway, her heels loud on the concrete floor. I tensed as I waited for her to say something.
“They found him,” she said breathlessly as she stopped, bracing her hand on the wall. “There was nothing…in the backpack but clothes and headphones. And I really…need to start doing cardio again.”
Beau’s shoulders slumped and he put a hand on Colby’s shoulder. The tension lifted immediately, and I put a hand in the air, trying to get everyone’s attention.
“Bring it in,” I said, and everyone huddled up.
“Let go of the stress,” I said, ditching my planned pregame speech. “Leave it out here in this hallway. When we step out onto that ice, we’re there for one thing and one thing only—to play the best fucking hockey we can. That’s how we honor the people we’ve lost. What does it mean to be a Colorado Coyote? That’s for us to show the world through our play and through our actions. We’re gonna go out there tonight and show everyone we’re united. We’re resilient. And most of all, we’re gonna show them we’re fucking back, boys.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “We’re fucking back on three. One, two, three.”
“We’re fucking back!” my teammates yelled in unison.
The mood was high when we got back into the locker room, everyone eager to get out on the ice. And when we finally did, it was nothing like any of us were used to. There weren’t twenty thousand screaming fans and there was no elaborate pregame light show.
Instead, there were a few thousand fans standing and cheering hard. They held signs and some of them shed tears. I’d never seen anything like it.
When I looked up at the press box, I saw the Denver Chronicle’s hockey reporter, Clark Samson. Eleanor Lawrence wasn’t there. Hell, she’d probably never been to hockey game in her life. She didn’t understand the heart and soul of this game, and she never would.
This was what I lived and breathed for. The moment the puck dropped, everything else disappeared from my mind. The screaming fans, the potential danger from earlier, and my opinionated neighbor. It was just me and the game I’d loved for twenty of my twenty-eight years on this earth. And it was perfect.