Penalty Kill

Harper

My eyes nearly succumb to shuttering closed as Jake's fingers rhythmically smooth over my hair. When he'd first turned on the TV tonight to watch the games that would determine the Storm's wildcard playoff chances, I'd plopped down beside him and laid my head in his lap. His hand found my hair immediately, and as we watched the minutes tick down in each game, his anxious self-soothing movement brought me closer to sleep with every slow, measured stroke across my head.

The ever-present glow of the city outside of his apartment windows adds to the coziness of the living room, the lighting low apart from the TV and flickering of the gas fireplace that's helping fight off the cold spell that's had the state in its unyielding grasp for days. Jake's been near silent since we started watching after dinner. Every now and then he'll murmur a curse or quiet exclamation when something goes right for the Storm's chances.

Huey is curled up by my feet on the couch, his sweet little chin resting on the curve of my hip as he snoozes peacefully. While so much hinges on the outcome of the divisional games being played tonight, making Jake a bundle of frayed nerves and restless anxiety, I can't help but relish everything about this moment.

The fact that I'm here, the fact that the man who's been stroking my hair for the past hour loves me. The fact that somehow, despite everything I've managed to weather and survive, I'm here. Nothing is lost on me. Not the fact that I've found a healthy relationship. Not the fact that I've started to find meaning in teaching again. Not the fact that despite losing the one person who served as the anchor to my heart, to my very life, I'm somehow doing something that feels completely foreign—something that feels like thriving.

For once, I'm helping shoulder someone else's adversity. It's been weeks of watching the standings fluctuate in the Storm's division. So much is riding on the team being able to slide into the last wildcard spot. Their season has been so tumultuous, full of horribly painful losing streaks and the most outrageous, unbelievable wins that came out of nowhere, against all odds.

The outcome of Jake's career lies with the outcome of this season. He becomes an unrestricted free agent when everything is said and done, and if the season ends with the Storm missing the playoffs yet again, he feels as though his fate will be sealed. He hasn't been happy with his own performance this year, and as much as I try to negate his oftentimes harsh self criticism, he thoroughly expects to go unsigned by the Storm when his contract expires.

He's been mulling it over intensely over the past few weeks. I know for a fact he hasn't articulated every thought he's had about it, but I know that if he goes unsigned by the Storm, he's not sure if he'll keep playing—at all. He's mused over going down to the minors, being thoroughly convinced the odds any other team will pick him up are exactly zero.

There's a chance he could retire entirely, packing up his life in the city and heading to his family farm upstate to take over where his retirement-age parents will leave off. There's a chance he gets interest from another team in the NHL. There's a chance he can go down and play in the minors.

Everything is up in the air, and instead of feeling  like I'm being swept up in a tidal wave of uncertainty, I nestle my head into his lap and let my eyes close. He bends down to press a kiss to my temple, his hand finding mine so he can hold it as I drift off to sleep. 

No matter what happens at tomorrow night's game, I'll be by his side, and he'll be by mine. 

Our love may be a new, delicate thing, but my passion for Jake has had months to grow strong, to solidify, to become the very foundation that allowed me to love him so fiercely, so freely. 

Win or lose, I will love him just the same. 

*****

As I'm standing with my hands pressed together in front of my mouth, watching the seconds tick by in the last moments of the third period, I find myself existing in an eerie moment of complete calm.