* CURRENTLY EDITING.*
Luke Madden is a NHL superstar. But when an injury sidelines him, he's required to undergo physical therapy. With a stable family and girlfriend, Luke has all the resources he needs. Or so he thinks. As it turns out, there are...
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Luke
Home smells like Mom's favourite cinnamon-vanilla soy candle. I'm sitting on the couch, sipping a non-alcoholic beer while Dad and I watch my team continue to fall. We're in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The series is tied at two, but only because of sheer luck. My team looks like shit on the ice. There's no way we're making it to the second round.
Every so often, Dad gets up to check on the steaks he's grilling, leaving me alone in the living room. Mom and Kate are adding the finishing touches to the salads and side dishes they're making. As contradictory as it sounds, I enjoy the moments of privacy in familiar quarters. During those moments, however, I internally tear myself apart.
It's my fault this team is falling apart. Being assigned the role of captain is never something to be taken lightly. I was given that role for a reason. Without my guidance and the energy I contribute to the team, they're all over the place. A complete disaster. This fucking injury is wrecking everything we worked for this season.
My heart feels like it's lodged in my throat as I stare at the screen. Tonight, Minnesota will take the lead in the series. We'll face elimination in the next game. It's devastating, after coming out first in the Pacific Division and second in the league.
"It's because you're not there, Luke. They miss their captain. Finley is an outstanding leader, but he doesn't tie the team together like you do."
I jump, straightening my posture. A twinge of pain goes through my knee at the sudden movement, and I relax it. When I meet Dad's gaze, my heart sinks. "I should be out there," I whisper.
Dad sits down beside me and gives my shoulder a squeeze-shake. "I know, son. But healing is the most important part, as I'm sure your physical therapist has told you."
My lips twist to one side. Fucking Rosa. She ripped a strip off of me before letting me go home. Told me that if I do anything that counteracts our progress, she'll kill me. "She may have said a few words..." I trail off and sigh, staring at the TV. "It hurts to watch them fall apart."
Dad nods. "That's a feeling I can relate to. Don't feel bad about it, either. Yes, hockey is a team sport, but what you contribute as an individual makes the team." He rubs the peppery stubble along his jaw. "It's like a well-oiled machine. If there's shitty coaching or shitty levels of performance, the plays don't work the way they should."
Just after he finishes his sentence, Minnesota scores again. I flop against the couch, closing my eyes and groaning. "Turn it off, Dad. I can't watch it anymore."
The couch creaks beneath Dad. Soon enough, the living room is quiet, save for the crackling wick of the candle. A wooden cribbage board sits on the coffee table with a deck of cards beside it. It's engraved with Toronto's NHL symbol. The three sets of pegs range from metallic blue, white, and black. We've played a few rounds today. I don't know if anyone's sick of cards yet, but it's about the only thing I can do aside from hobbling around the neighbourhood on my crutches.
