The Games We Play

The day of Game One against the Nashville Predators, Jonathan felt his heart racing in his chest. He was nervous, but not about the game. He sat in his stall in his full uniform and skates, his eyes closed, trying to concentrate. Patrick passed his captain and shot him strange looks.

“Are you okay?”

Jonathan looked up momentarily, but then went back to concentrate on his breathing. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick pressed. “You look kind of stressed out. I mean, I know it’s the first game of the playoffs, but you know...we kind of need you to get your head in it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan relented. “I’m just...thinking.”

“Mr. Serious, caught thinking,” Patrick announced over dramatically. “Yeah, shocker. But somehow I’m not convinced that you’re thinking solely about hockey. Am I right?”

Jonathan glared at Patrick and went back to focusing on one point on the ground. Patrick smirked at his silence and declared himself triumphant in his guess.

“Bet you a million bucks that you’re thinking of Lacey right now.”

Jonathan’s eyes flew up to meet Patrick’s amused glance. “No,” he said almost too quickly.

Patrick rolled his eyes and waved it off. “It’s no big deal that you’re thinking about a girl. She’s smokin’ hot and she’s here to watch the game. Just think of her as another member of the Toews fan club and you’ll be okay.”

“I’m not going to debase her or objectify her just because I think she’s pretty,” Jonathan chided defensively. “Just...never mind.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders and went off in search of some tape for his stick. Jonathan sat in his stall, slowly rolling his shoulders around to loosen himself up. He took three deep breaths and rose to his feet once one of the assistants announced that the team needed to file out onto the ice.

Jonathan had gotten Lacey and Derek seats pretty close to the Blackhawks’ bench, but he knew that trying to find their faces in the frenzy of people would be difficult. He decided to just let it slide--he would play his game, he would focus, and that would be that. No distractions.

The first period was scoreless--an intense start to an important game, but both teams were able to keep the puck out of their own nets. Then in the second period, Patrick got a goal to open the Blackhawks’ scoreboard. That’s how it stayed for the remainder of the period.

Then the third period came and everything fell apart. The Nashville Predators managed to score four goals on Niemi, two of them by J.P. Dumont, a former Hawk and two others by Smithson and Erat. As the final buzzer sounded, Jonathan shook his head. He was just glad that the game was over and done with. He didn’t want to have to face the cameras and the media in the locker room afterward, though. He got to his stall and shed his equipment and wiped his face off with a towel before the reporters started filing in and surrounding him.

He did his best to answer all the questions, but he was tired. He didn’t want to have to keep answering the same question rephrased over and over, he didn’t want to have to admit the fact that he was distracted and losing focus. That game wasn’t a proud moment for him, finishing the night with a -1 rating.

The media personnel cleared out of the locker room after a while and Jonathan leaned his head back against the wooden frame of his stall. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. As he was exhaling, he heard someone call out to him.

“Wow, that game must have really tuckered you out. Napping already?”

Jonathan quickly opened his eyes and saw Lacey and Derek standing in front of him. Lacey was wearing a red hoodie with the number 19 cut out of white paper taped to her back. Derek had on a replica of Sharpie’s jersey.

“Hey, you guys made it,” he smiled. “Sorry you had to come see that. The game was pretty pathetic.”

“Well, you win some, you lose some,” Lacey shrugged. “Game Two should be better.”

Jonathan nodded. He glanced over at Derek, who looked like he was suppressing laughter, holding something behind his back. When Lacey looked away to wave to other members of the team, he pulled out a small makeshift sign on a piece of white 8.5”x11” paper that had a red heart with the number 19 in the middle, complete with an arrow pointing to his left where Lacey was standing. Jonathan smirked and glanced at Lacey. She still hadn’t noticed.

“Hey, what’s with the sign?” Patrick yelled out from his stall. “You’ve got the wrong number in that heart, buddy!”

Lacey looked over and briefly saw the sign that Derek had been trying to shield from her view.

“Derek!” she exclaimed, heat rushing to her cheeks. She ripped the paper from his hands and crumpled it into a ball before haphazardly throwing it across the room. “What’s the matter with you?”

Derek laughed and shook his head. “Oh, sorry. But I had to. Come on, you’ve got his number taped in construction paper to your back.”

“I had to improvise, I don’t have enough money to pay for a jersey,” she hissed. Patrick waltzed over, not having showered and still sweaty from the game and wrapped his arms around Lacey’s middle and nuzzled his face into her neck.

“What did I say about wearing my number or not wearing anything at all?” he whispered into her ear. Lacey peeled him off and laughed.

“Well, that was gross. Derek and I are going to head out, but maybe we’ll see you guys later?”

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow, maybe.”

Lacey and Derek waved before heading out of the locker room. Jonathan waved back before turning to Patrick and giving him a hard glare.

“What the hell was that?”

Patrick looked surprised. “What was what?”

“Are you kidding me?” he hissed. “You were all over Lacey!”

Patrick shrugged. “So? That’s just how we are.” Then he smirked. “Aw, Tazer. Don’t tell me you’re jealous because you’re too scared to make a move.”

Jonathan just kept his glare steady. “Shut up.”

Patrick snorted and shook his head before heading off to the showers. Jonathan ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily before doing the same. He cleansed himself quickly and got changed in a flash before grabbing the keys to his truck and heading home. When he got to his apartment, he slammed the door shut and flopped face-first onto his bed.

As he slowly drifted off to sleep, there was only one conclusive thought in his head: He needed to make a move before Patrick beat him to it.