Twisted Turnaround

Chapter 15

MILES

The game is moving at a smooth pace. Our team has gotten the lead, and whenever I turn, the puck is there. I'm doing so well with the game that my mind is playing on autopilot. I don't need to work hard to concentrate; I got this. The only thing I'm focused on is the puck. I move fast on my shakes, moving smoothly around players and dodging their attempts to block me.

Nothing could get me.

I was doing the best I ever did. All those hours of conditioning for the last month counted off. Right now is when I'll be able to show what I have to offer. I had a lot to offer, and I needed the certain scouts who came out today to see that. I'm grinning under my helmet when I finally get the puck right in front of me. Then I position the stick in front of it, and with a flick of my wrist, I hit the puck as hard as I can.

Miles, I'm pregnant.

At the last moment, I hit the puck, and it doesn't go where I want it to. It doesn't go because for a second I had frozen. Before I can make a clean hit, someone from the opposing team has come over and blocked my puck. I hear the entire audience deflate at my faulty attempt at scoring a goal.

I blink a few times, try to get the image out of my head. For the last two weeks, I have been trying my hardest not to think about what was happening. About how, even though I didn't want to believe it, Andrea was pregnant. I know for a fact that I'm the only guy bothering her, so it had to be me who was the father. But I can't—I cannot just drop everything and let my life get ruined.

So I've been  it. I had other things to worry about, just like the game. The game that I was losing considering the center player on the other team is running with the puck and having no one there to block him. Because it's me. I should be the one to go and block him. I'm just staring off at space, the overwhelming noise in the audience echoing off my ears as my thoughts are clouded of thoughts of Andrea and the baby.

I shake my head, trying to clear of it, but as soon as I do so, the audience on the other side starts to cheer, and it's then I realize that the other team had scored a point on us.

"Watson!"  I hear a shout at the end of the rink, and I knew who it was. It was my coach, wondering what the hell had gotten into me. Before he can yell at me, I turn around and say, "I got this. I'm sorry."

"Just play," the coach says with a shout. He was wondering why all of a sudden I stopped in the middle of the games. He had been looking weird at me last game when I had messed up with the last point, and I swear I heard Andrea in the stands. He is hesitant to throw me on the ice, but I have been leading for a place. I could do it. I can play my best game without anyone getting in my way.

The next round starts, and I'm quick to do the best I can. I glide through the ice, blocking everyone in my way, and pass it to my teammate. Then I run as fast as I can, and right before the other team can hit the hit, I do it. I'm playing the best I have ever done. The noise in the audience is loud and thrilling to my ears. This was all that I have been working on in my life. This was the moment younger me was waiting for. Younger me, who had dreamed of something bigger than playing with a stick in our two-bedroom apartment.

This was the life I was meant to live.

What about your baby?

At the mention of the child passing my head, I feel my hand falter and the sound of another stick taking the hit that was supposed to be mine. Everything around me crumbles because that's all I'm aware of. That's all I can think about.

The baby.

There was a baby with my blood developing in Andrea's stomach, and yet here I was being selfish. Here I was thinking that this game was the most important thing in the world than the oblivion that I own my child.