The coldness radiates off the ice and it seeps through my socks as my skates effortlessly glide across the smooth surface. It’s the first period and we’re out on fresh ice with the start of the game. Usually August Whitley would be the starting center, but our coach has started alternating between the two of us.
Since I’m a freshman at Wyncote University, I don’t get as much ice time as the seniors on our team do, but our coach knows that I need to be out there too. I’ve been looked at by scouts since I was in high school and if everything goes accordingly, I’ll be playing on a professional level next season.
College won’t even matter then, not that it did from the start. I only came here for the hockey program Wyncote has and the fact that it’s one of the biggest hockey colleges. I declared my major as some bullshit business degree because in the end, it didn’t really matter.
I was going to be playing professional hockey, so my college degree meant nothing.
It’s time for the puck drop and I slide across the ice, stopping as I reach the center ring. The opposing center player is already crouched down and in the correct stance for the face-off. The rest of their team are already in their zones. I glance around, noting Sterling Barrett and Hayden King as they fall into place.
My eyes meet the other center’s, Number 18, as I crouch down in front of him. Both of our sticks are in our hands and anticipation builds in the air as we wait for the ref to drop the puck. Time is suspended momentarily before I watch the black frozen piece of rubber begin to fall down between the two of us.
We battle over the puck, both of our sticks slapping at one another’s as we’re lost in a power struggle. One of us is going to win the face-off and I’m not going to be the one who skates away without one of my teammates having the puck. Using the toe of my skate, I lift up his stick, just quick enough for me to get the puck away from him before passing it back to Hayden.
I move out of the way, watching as Hayden takes the puck and begins to circle around. He starts to move in the direction of the opposing team’s net. Sterling and I both begin to skate ahead of him, each of us taking opposite sides of the rink. Hayden passes the puck to Sterling and he doesn’t miss a beat as he begins to stickhandle it, skating across the slick surface.
Hayden falls back, hanging back in the defensive zone as Sterling and I both continue to skate closer to the net. Sterling and I make eye contact and he sends the puck to me as another player approaches him. I’m already ahead of him and closer to the net. The muscles in my legs work harder as I skate faster, picking up speed with every stride I take.
The net is practically wide open with just the goaltender occupying the space in front of it. He’s already dropped into a stance as he sees me charging at him. He’s anticipating my next move and I know I need to fake him out.
Suddenly, one of the defensive players on their team enters my field of vision. I thought he was already preoccupied by someone else, but now he’s directly in my way. Stickhandling the puck, I move it around as I attempt to confuse him on which way I’m going to skate around him. His bright yellow jersey sticks out and the number 8 is on the front.
I make a move like I’m going to the right and I watch as he begins to shift his weight before I switch to the left. Number 8 matches my movements and he’s quicker than I expected. Instead of attempting to take the puck from me, he slides his skate out to try and trip me. As he makes the move, he braces himself, and I don’t even see it coming as my knee collides directly into his.
It’s almost as if the entire thing happens in slow motion but I had no time to anticipate any of it. A searing pain erupts in my knee, tearing through my leg like wildfire. All movement ceases with that leg and it’s essentially useless. I can’t hold myself up and I crumble onto the ice, unable to bear any weight on my leg.
I fall onto my side with my injured left leg propped on top of my right leg. The bottom half of my leg feels like it is completely detached from the top, yet I can feel every goddamn nerve ending on fire from the pain. Tears well in my eyes and I blink rapidly, attempting to hold them back as my jaw clenches.
My surroundings begin to fade and the blackness grows around the perimeter of my vision. Planting my gloved hands on the ice, I attempt to lift myself back onto my feet, but as soon as my left skate touches the slick surface, pain slices through me. It radiates throughout my entire leg and I’m left breathless as I collapse back onto the ice.
“Shit,” Hayden growls when he and Sterling are both crouched down and in my face. “We gotta get you back to see the doc, bro.”
Words fail me. I have nothing to say. Judging by the pain and the way that my leg feels, this is all over. Within the blink of a fucking eye, my future is ruined.
“Just leave me here,” I mumble, attempting to push the two of them away. I’d rather die than never be able to play again.
“Come on, man,” Sterling says as the two of them begin to slide their arms under me to lift me up. “We’re not leaving you here. Can you bear any weight?”
Swallowing roughly, I shake my head. I don’t know which hurts worse, the physical pain from my injury or the pain that licks at my heart right now. Hayden’s jaw clenches and there’s a solemnness to both his and Sterling’s expressions. They hoist me up and I wrap my arms around the backs of their necks as they both take their positions on opposite sides of me.
They both slip their arms underneath my knees as they attempt to carry me off the ice. As Sterling puts pressure on the underside of my knee, the pain tears through my body and the intensity is too much. I yell out but my voice is quickly drowned out as everything around me goes black.
I wake up in a haste, drenched in my own sweat. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, rattling against my rib cage. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me and I struggle to take in a deep breath. Sitting upright, I glance around the room, noticing that I’m in my bed at my parents’ house.
My left knee throbs and I throw off the blanket as I glance down, hoping that it was all just a nightmare. The moonlight that shines through the window casts itself across my leg, revealing the angry, ugly scars on my leg. This—this is the real fucking nightmare.
It’s been two years since my injury.
Two years since I last played ice hockey.
Two years since my life was forever changed.
And no matter how hard I try, it replays in my mind every goddamn night. It’s almost as if the universe hasn’t gotten enough pleasure from taking the one thing that mattered the most away from me. No. Instead, I have to be punished every time I close my eyes to fall asleep.
It’s always the same dream. Step for step, the memory that is forever etched into my mind of the one day that ended my hockey career. I was literally just getting started; I hadn’t even transitioned into the professional level yet and it was all ripped away from me before I had the chance to fully taste it.
Collapsing onto my back, I attempt to steady my heart and regulate my breathing. I’m afraid to close my eyes again and instead, I lie there, staring up at the ceiling until the sky is changing colors. First comes the deep blue, which then shifts into a pinkish orange tone as the sun is beginning to fully crest the horizon.
I don’t bother moving when I hear everyone beginning to move around the massive house. My parents were gracious enough to let me come back to live with them after the incident. My knee was completely blown out and my ACL was shredded beyond repair. They had to take part of my hamstring and make a graft since they weren’t able to salvage any of the original ligament.
That was an injury I could have potentially recovered from. It’s not uncommon in sports, and I know people who have torn their ACLs before and continued to play. It was the severity of mine that was the real kicker. The muscles in my left thigh were fucked up from the force of the blow to my leg and there were splinter fractures in my femur. There was also damage done to the joint.
My leg was fucking ruined. It was a long road to recovery with the different surgeries I had to undergo. Not to mention the months of physical therapy afterward. I’m still not one hundred percent, and I never will be. There’s a lingering pain that decides to visit me on occasion. I walk with a slight limp now.
And you want to know what the motherfucker who did this to me got?
A goddamn two-minute penalty and a sprained knee.
