matthew
I huff as I skate off the ice, taking one of my gloves off while I unsnap my helmet. Making my way down the red hallway toward the locker room, I place my stick outside of the door along with all the other ones. Walking into the room, I pick up a bottle of Gatorade from the tray in the middle of the room before I head over to my spot on the big, long bench and place my gloves on the small square shelf above my name. “I was dragging my ass out there,” I say, trying to get my breathing back as I sit down on the bench and unscrew the cap.
“I think we were all dragging out there,” Jeff observes from beside me. He takes off the jersey he has on and tosses it in the big bin that is in the middle of the room, right beside the team logo on the carpet.
“Beginning of the season is always like this,” I say to Jeff as the locker room fills up with the guys who have come off the ice. Everyone sits down at their place as they get their energy back. “At least we don’t have a game tonight.” I put the Gatorade beside me before leaning down and untying my skates.
I’ve been playing hockey since before I can remember. I think there is a picture in my parents’ house of me on skates at a year old. I could barely walk but my father laced up my tiny skates and skated with me. I always knew I wanted to play hockey. I mean, coming from the family I came from, it was a given. My grandfather was a hockey god, to say the least. He literally still has records that no one has beaten. My father played hockey. My uncles and most of my cousins all play professional hockey, so it was no surprise that I wanted to do it also. I just did it a bit different from my cousins. I got drafted when I was eighteen. Not first like most of them, but it didn’t matter to me, because no matter what number I went, I was going to finish school before playing. It was something my father and I decided together when I was thirteen. I would be drafted and then get a degree in business. I played hockey in college where I recorded twenty-two goals and nineteen assists in thirty-six games. I was at the top of the standings. When I came back the second year, I dominated even more, with thirty-two goals and fifty-seven points in thirty-one games.
Needless to say, when I finally got my degree and graduated, I went straight to the NHL. Luckily for me, Carolina drafted me, so I didn’t have to move far since I went to school here. In March before I graduated, I signed an entry-level contract and finally suited up in April for the farm team. I scored two goals and one assist in that game and quickly was called up to play my very first NHL game. It took me three games to get my groove and I finally scored my first ever NHL goal. I still remember to this day how it felt, like I made the family proud. It was so hard growing up and walking in everyone else’s shadow, having to prove you belong there, and not that you were there because of the dynasty you grew up in. I slip on my slides and put my skates under the bench before fully undressing. I hear some conversation all around me, but now that I’m not on the ice, my mind wanders. It takes me right back to yesterday. Right back to seeing Sofia again.
The minute I got into the car with Helena, I told her we should check out other event planners. I knew we would never, ever use Sofia. Can you imagine? Even when I dropped Helena off at her place, she was still telling me how much she loved Sofia. I just needed to have my space to get everything in my head clear. News flash—it just made it worse. I swear it feels like the Pandora’s box that was Sofia and me magically opened, and now the only thing I could think of is her.
I walk out of practice wearing my track suit and my baseball hat backward. My brown hair under it is still wet from the shower, as I shake my protein shake cup. I unlock my car door before sliding in and starting it. I pull away from the parking area and call my father. We speak daily, sometimes twice a day. He answers me right away. “Hey,” he greets, and I hear he’s in his car also.
“Hey there,” I reply, smiling and then suddenly missing him. It’s strange the way time works. When I was a teenager, I couldn’t wait to be out from under their rules and now there is nothing that calms me down like talking to my father. “Whatcha doing?”
“Just left the rink,” he says, and I laugh. He played for many years in the NHL. He actually got traded to New York while he was in rehab. My uncle Matthew took a chance on him. He met my mother, Zoe, who is Matthew’s younger sister, when he was looking for a house.
“Who were you training with?” I ask as I make my way over to my house.
“Uncle Evan, Max, and Matthew,” he says, “Grandpa Cooper came also.” I smile thinking of my grandfather still lacing up. He may not have the speed he had before, but he’s got the plays all in his head. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing much,” I huff, “just got out of practice and I’m going to go home and get on the bike.”
“What’s the matter?” he asks right away. I knew if anyone could tell that something was bothering me, it would be my father. If I was in front of my mother, she would be able to tell right away. It’s like they have this parent superpower.
“Nothing really,” I lie to him but my father laughs.
“You sound like someone stole your favorite snack at school,” he teases, and I can’t help but chuckle. “How is it to be back on the ice?” He changes the subject, not pushing me, knowing that when I’m ready, I’ll tell him what is bothering me.
“It’s good, felt a little off today but…” My voice trails off and I wait for my father to say something, but he knows that I’m not done. “Can I ask you something?” The nerves start in my stomach and then spread right up my chest.
“You can ask me anything,” he assures me softly.
“How did you know Mom was the one?” I finally ask the big question I asked myself all night.
“Matty,” he calls me by my nickname, his voice going soft, “I like Helena, she’s a nice girl from what I can tell.” I smile because even if he didn’t like her, he wouldn’t tell me, the whole family would be supportive of me no matter what. “But if you are thinking this now, how do you think it will be in the future?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confusion running through me.
“You aren’t supposed to think you found the one. You are supposed to know. If it’s the one, there isn’t that question,” he explains. “There isn’t any question, it just is. There is no second-guessing when you know it’s the one.”
“It’s fine, Dad.” I cover it up as much as I can to make him not worry. “I was just…”
“It’s a big step, Matty. For both your sakes, if you aren’t sure, don’t rush into it,” he advises, and I nod my head as I pull into my driveway.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, smiling before I turn the car off and get out of it, grabbing the protein shake and the phone. “I’m going to head on to the bike, I’ll call you later.”
“Love you,” he says, like he always does, right before we hang up. Every single time, even if we talk ten times a day.
“Love you, too, say hi to Mom for me,” I reply right before we both hang up. I walk to the side of the house instead of going through the house. Making my way to the pool house I converted into a home gym, I enter the code on the lock pad and hear the lock turning to open the door. Once it’s open, I walk right to the bike that sits in the corner next to the treadmill.
Once I get on the bike, I start slow and then work my speed up. I chuck off my jacket and then my T-shirt. Two hours later, I’ve finished off the water bottle I started thirty minutes ago as I sit on the weight bench and try to catch my breath. The sweat pours off me as my phone rings from beside the bike.
I get up and walk over to grab it, looking down and seeing it’s Christopher calling me. “Yo,” I say, walking out of the gym.
“Hey,” he greets, and I can hear that he, too, is out of breath. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much, just finished the bike,” I tell him, walking to the back door and putting in the code for it. I hear the sound of the lock turning, and then walk into the back door and straight into the kitchen. I walk over to the huge, stainless-steel double fridge, pulling it open and grabbing one of the prepared meals my cleaning lady puts in there every other day. “What about you?” Walking around the island to the eight-burner stove, with double ovens, I turn the red knob for the oven, placing the container on the pan that is already inside. I set the timer for thirty minutes before I make my way upstairs to my bedroom.
The shades are still closed, so the room is pitch black, but I walk toward my bathroom.
“I just finished the treadmill,” he says, and I hear a door slam on his end. “What’s new?”
“Not much,” I tell him, putting the phone on speaker before I walk over to the shower. “Met my wedding planner,” I say before I pull open the mirrored door, turning on the water.
“Oh, nice, I still can’t believe you are actually getting married.” He chuckles.
“It’s Sofia.” I cut to the chase and walk back over to the phone that is on the counter as I look down at it.
“Um, excuse me?” Christopher says in shock, and I swear I can hear him stop moving.
“Yeah,” I huff, kicking off my shoes, “you heard me.”
“What the fuck?” I can’t help but shake my head.
“Yeah, that is what I said also,” I admit to him.
“What the hell?” He continues being in shock.
“Yeah, I said that also.” I peel off my socks and toss them into the laundry basket in the corner of my walk-in closet, adding my track pants to it.
“Jesus, how was it?”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“I mean, like what did you say? What did she say?” He is asking all the questions I would ask if the roles were reversed.
“I didn’t say anything and neither did she,” I tell him. “She pretended she didn’t know me.”
“Oh, burn,” he says, laughing and I roll my eyes.
“It wasn’t a burn.” My head screams out that it was, in fact, a burn. “It was.”
“Did you tell Helena who she was?” he asks me, and I choke.
“Are you out of your mind? We both pretended that we didn’t know each other. What did you want me to do? Get in the car and be like, ‘hey, you know that hot girl we just met, we dated for two years before I—’” I stop talking when I think about it when I hear his question.
“Is she still hot?” he asks, and I groan.
“Out of everything I just told you, that is the only thing you caught?” I say between clenched teeth. Then I want to kick myself for even bringing up that she was hot in the first place.
He laughs. “Well, why would you notice she was hot if you were with Helena?” he asks. I open my mouth and then close it before opening it again, but nothing comes out. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” I ask.
“Are you going to call her?” he asks me, and I just look down at the phone.
“Who?”
“Sofia?” He says her name.
“Absolutely not. Why the hell would I call her?” It’s two years too late for that, you asshole, my head screams to me.
“What are you going to do?” he asks. “Are you going to use her for your wedding?”
“Are you out of your mind?” I screech. “I’m never talking to her again.”