Meant For You

fifty-three.

Miles Dempsey

I throw my helmet on the ground once I enter the empty locker room. "Fuck!" I yell, sitting my ass down in my locker. It was game five of the first round and I had been thrown out of the fucking game. In a couple of seconds, assistant coach Kayman was going to be yelling my ear off about causing a fight.

The game had been going in our favor. We were winning 4-2 against Winnipeg and once we secured this win tonight, we'd be off to the second round. We had won the last four games after losing our first. Winnipeg was giving it their all tonight to stay in the game but they just couldn't do well against our defense.

Even before the game started, I was being stared down by Travis Strome, Winnipeg's best defenseman. I knew he would be on my ass from the looks he was giving me but holy shit did it still not piss me the fuck off. The amount of times the jackass tried slamming me into the plexiglass was unimaginable.

He succeeded once and I didn't do anything. Fair game.

But after that one, he was out for blood. After the long week, I had enough of him. As JT was approaching the net with the puck, I made sure to stay close in case someone tried taking the puck away. Strome was paying more mind to Kelz at the moment, leaving me open.

When JT noticed I was open and close to the net he shot the puck in my direction. Just as I was about to swing it in, Strome body-checked me, stealing the puck and flinging it to one of his teammates. The frustration that had been building up the entire game finally took over and I slammed him into the boards purposefully.

I was kicked out of the game immediately.

My gloves come off second and I toss those to the side as well, still catching my breath. My adrenaline was pumping and in the next couple of seconds, Coach Kayman sauntered into the empty locker room. "What the hell is your problem, son?" he says. Kayman is a lot softer than our head coach. He doesn't scare me at all but I hate when people lecture me when I'm already pissed off.

"You saw him the whole game, Coach. He was fucking with me." My words come out through clenched teeth. "I don't give a damn! You cannot be causing fights, Dempsey. You're lucky they didn't fucking suspend your ass for the next game!!" His words go in one ear and out the other. I'm not in the mood. "Yessir," is all I say as much as I don't want to. Arguing isn't going to get me anywhere.

He lets out a loud breath, shaking his head. "Coach will talk to you after the game. Don't leave without speaking to him." I don't respond as he jogs back out of the locker room. I feel like a fucking idiot for getting myself kicked out of the game this late but there's no going back now.

We played well in the first round but there's room for improvement. The Oilers won their fourth game yesterday which means we'll be playing them in the second round. I'm more worried about them than I was worried about Winnipeg. We had the best odds to win this first round but Oilers have the best odds next round.

I'll be fucking damned if I lose to them so we won't.

My focus has been solely on hockey and I've pretty much blacked out on any other part of my life. I had a long phone call with mom and dad the night I landed in Los Angeles from Miami. We talked for over an hour about the whole meeting with Bethany and everything she had told me. Mom and Dad seemed to have taken everything well but I don't know completely since I wasn't in the room with them.

I told them meeting the Graysons would have to wait for now. Hockey was the only thing I was thinking about. If I had any free time, perhaps I'd look into meeting my birth fathers family. The postseason is in full throttle though and I can barely find time to do anything that isn't eat, sleep, and practice.