The Games We Play

The team lined up on the field for the kickoff. Loyola had possession of the ball. Lacey stood by the sidelines, wringing her fingers nervously. Her coach put a comforting hand on her shoulder as if to tell her, Calm down. Lacey took three deep breaths and clasped her hands together as both teams started to move.

Becky had the ball. She dribbled along the right side of the field with it, dodging her way past NYU midfielders and sending a long pass to Katelyn on the opposite side. Katelyn trapped it with her foot and took a shot that was deflected off the shin pad of a defender and carried up into Loyola’s half. The other Loyola defenders picked the ball off her and sent it back to the other end. That’s how it was for what felt like years. Back and forth, back and forth.

Lacey felt her heart pounding all the way up into her throat. Every time the ball would be in her team’s possession, she saw a glimmer of hope. And when it was taken away, that hope was stomped out almost instantly. She didn’t know how to feel, so she kept her face neutral. From far away, she looked calm, but inside, a war was raging. All she could do was hope for the best.

* * * *

Overtime.

The Blackhawks were back on the ice against the Flyers. Jonathan could see, as he took the opening face-off, that they still had that same spark in their eyes that they had during the third period. He knew that if they wanted to win, it wasn’t going to be easy. He grinned to himself just slightly. He relished the idea of a challenge.

The puck was back and forth in both ends. The Philly crowd gave the Chicago team no mercy--shouting, swearing, pointing--doing what they were best known for. Intimidating the other team. As they made a line change, Jonathan headed back to the bench. He called out words of encouragement to his team. No matter what the outcome, something would be decided tonight, whether it be the new Stanley Cup Champions or the declaration of a Game Seven.

Four minutes in, Patrick was on the ice with Sharpie. Patrick got possession of it deep in the offensive zone along the boards. He wove his way around a defenseman and took the shot.

The sound of Patrick’s victory cry silenced all of Philadelphia.

* * * *

Five minutes remained in overtime before the shootouts. Everything was still very back and forth. Nothing was going in. One of the NYU girls, the brunette that had badmouthed Lacey earlier in the day, had gotten possession of the ball and was headed straight for the net. The Loyola defender on the left wing came at her as she ran forward and slide tackled the ball away in the 18 yard box. The brunette tripped over the girl’s sprawled body and fell, rolling a few times before stopping and steadying herself.

The NYU crowd was livid. They screamed profanities at the Loyola defender, shouting incessantly, PENALTY. PENALTY.

The defender stood up as the referee came towards her. “Ref, I didn’t trip her!” she declared as he fished around in his pocket. “She fell herself, that was a clean slide tackle! I got the ball, not her leg!”

The ref wouldn’t listen. He took out a yellow card and held it up in the air. The NYU crowd cheered and clapped, thinking the ref had made the right call. Lacey, from the sidelines, shook her head and frowned.

Then, on top of that, the referee called out, “Set up for a penalty shot.”

More cheers from the crowd. The Loyola girls were furious as the ref set up the ball at the edge of the box, gesturing to the brunette, who was completely fine and unshaken, to take her shot. She took a few steps back, took a running start at the ball and launched it into the air.

Everything was in slow motion. Lacey saw the ball flying through the air. She saw it start to curl to the left. She saw the goalie jump up to try and stop it. And she saw it slip through her fingers and hit the mesh at the back of the net.

It was over.

The NYU girls screamed and cheered and posed for photos as the Loyola girls filed in a single line off the field. Lacey waited for them, giving each of them a high-five for their effort.

She wanted to say something to her teammates. Something to encourage them, something that would take the sting out of losing and being eliminated in five games after working so hard and doing so well. But the words just wouldn’t come. Lacey was the last one to leave the field. She just sat on the grass, looking out onto the field, imagining what difference it would have made if she had been able to help out her team.

Once she was done feeling sorry for herself, Lacey stood and hobbled to the street and waved a taxi. She got in and stared out the window as the driver fiddled with the radio knob, settling it on the sports station.

--as team captain Jonathan Toews hoists the Cup--

Lacey’s ears perked up. “What was that?”

“You didn’t hear?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. “The Chicago Blackhawks just won the Stanley Cup in overtime.”

Lacey sat there, stunned, her mouth slightly agape. Finally, she said, “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You a Philly fan?”

She smiled a bit and shook her head. “No. Just...it’s been a long day. And with that news on top of everything...it’s just a lot to absorb. It’ll take me a while for it to sink in. But when it does, I’m sure I’ll be ecstatic.”

The driver nodded. Then he said, “You look familiar. Have I seen you around before?”

Lacey’s mind flashed to those photos of her and Jonathan circulating the Internet. “No,” she said firmly. “Must be thinking of someone else.”

He let the subject drop.

On the flight back to New York, Lacey sat by herself next to the window. At the airport, she’d debated calling Jonathan or texting him to congratulate him, but she decided not to. If she was going to congratulate him, then it was going to be in person.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Lacey hugged her teammates goodbye and thanked them for a good season before heading back to her apartment. She carried her bag up the stairs and took out her keys, unlocking the door. When she opened it and stepped inside, she dropped her bags to the floor.

There Jonathan was with a huge bouquet of red roses, standing there in a dark gray pinstriped suit with his playoff beard still in all of its Wolverine-esque glory.

“W-What are you doing here?” she managed to get out, going to him and melting into his arms. “I thought you would still be in Philadelphia.”

“I wanted to make sure I was here when you got home,” he said quietly. “Derek told me about the game. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Lacey sighed, leaning against Jonathan’s chest as he slowly rocked her back and forth. “I guess there’s always next year for most of us, anyway. A few of the girls are going to be graduating, like Becky and Andrea.”

Jonathan nodded. “I’m glad you’re taking this so well.”

Lacey let out a chuckle. “I’m actually not, but I’m...I’m trying my best,” she said. “But enough about me, what about you, Mr. Stanley Cup Champion?”

Jonathan blushed and looked down at her. “It sucks that our games were at the same time. You should have seen Kaner’s overtime goal. It was pretty epic, no one even knew it was in the net but him.”

“I’m pretty sure I could hear his screams all the way in New York,” Lacey joked. “I wish I could have seen you lift the Cup.”

“Well,” Jonathan mumbled with a small smile. “You can...if you come with me to Winnipeg for the summer.”

Lacey broke out into a huge smile. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” Jonathan laughed. “Why would I joke about that? I want you to be with me. Besides, my parents and my brother want to meet you since I’ve been apparently talking about you so much.”

Lacey blushed. “Okay.”

Jonathan set the roses down and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lacey’s lips. When they pulled apart, he said, barely above a whisper, “I love you.”

She drew him in for another kiss. “I love you too.”

“I know,” he smirked, resting his forehead against hers. “I heard you that day when you came back from the hospital.”

Lacey punched him lightly in the chest. “You ass! I knew you weren’t sleeping!”

Jonathan laughed and just held Lacey there as the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, illuminating Lacey’s neon pink cast. He glanced down at it and then back into Lacey’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She bit her lip and let out a tiny sigh. “Not right now,” she admitted. Jonathan frowned. She went to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “But I will be.”

And she meant it.