Brian: I’ve made it home, how are you feeling?

* * *

I made it home early this morning and am dead-ass tired. I didn’t get any sleep on my flights back to Indy; my mind spun the entire time. That dreaded feeling I got after the first phone call from Kinley was nothing compared to how I felt when she shut her apartment door. I didn’t know what else to do when she asked me to leave, so I just agreed. I figured it was best to let her have her space for a little while. Once the playoffs are over, I can go back up and not have any time restraints as to how long I can be there, to fix things between us.

After getting home, I head straight for the shower, needing to loosen up my body. I should probably go to the morning skate today, but I need a nap first. So, I shower and crash for a few hours.

I arrive at the arena later that morning, and head straight for Coach’s office, not sure if he will put me back in the lineup for tonight’s game; at the very least, I need him to know I’m back. The look on his face isn’t shocking to me. Hell, I thought I would be gone closer to a week, not just a couple of nights.

“Brian, good to see you back. Did you get everything settled?”

“As much as I could; the rest will have to wait until after the season. But I’m here, and ready to play tonight.”

“I’ll get the paperwork started to move you back into the lineup. As long as you’re feeling good after morning skate, you can expect to be in the lineup tonight.”

“Thank you, Coach. I’ll see you out on the ice,” I say, walking out of his office and down to the locker room to get changed for practice. Scott looks up as I approach our lockers and cocks his head toward the door, motioning me to step back out of the locker room with him. I turn around and head out to the hallway with him on my heels.

“How did things go? I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. How’s Kinley?”

“Things are so fucked up. I just don’t know what to do. She’s pushing everyone away. She point blank told me to leave, she didn’t want me there. So, I gave her the space she asked for and left. Was the last fucking thing I wanted to do, but I also couldn’t force her to talk to me.”

“She still hasn’t called or texted Becca. It was hard not telling her why you weren’t in the game, or even in the arena.”

“Sorry to put you in such a tough spot, man. But I appreciate you not telling her. Kinley needs to be the one to do so.”

“I agree, man. Just shitty all around. But Kinley has always been a very private person and holds things close. She doesn’t like letting people in. It’s just baffling that she’s keeping Becca out of the loop.”

“She hadn’t even told her parents yet, and only told her mom because she needed a ride to the ER.”

“Well, I’m glad you're back, man. Sorry things aren’t going how you planned. Coach putting you back in the lineup tonight?”

“Yep. Well, as long as I feel okay with morning skate.”

“Well, let’s get out there and see how you do.”

We both head back into the locker room to get changed and our gear on, then head out to the ice. I make a few laps around the ice, warming up my legs. They are a bit stiff from not being on the ice the past few days, and from all the flying I’ve done in such a short time. By the time I’ve got them warmed up, the coaching staff is down on the ice, starting practice.

Practice was successful, and exactly what I needed. I hit the showers, ready to get some food, and then head home for my afternoon nap before game time tonight. I decide to tag along with some teammates who usually eat together after practice. I check my cell on my way out; still no messages or calls from Kinley. I’m not surprised she hasn’t contacted me, but it still fucking hurts.

Brian: Just checking in on you, please let me know how you’re doing, I love you.

I slide my phone back in my pocket before pulling out of the parking lot to head to the restaurant. It’s one of our usual spots, which is fine by me as they have great food.

Being back around my teammates has helped bring my focus back to the game, and what we’ve got ahead of us. Kinley is never far from my thoughts, but I also need to focus on the game and my job. I end up sitting between Murph and Mark Lee, one of the other D-men we picked up last season in a trade deal. He’s a good guy, just kind of more on the quiet, reserved side.

“Hey, man, nice to have you back,” Mark says after we’ve all ordered.

“Good to be back. You guys played hard the other night.”

“At least we took home the win.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey, man, everything okay?” Murph asks me.

“Not really, I just have to believe it will be. Kinley’s not responding to any of my texts or calls. I’ve just got to give her time and space. It fucking sucks, but not much else I can do about it right now. “

“Is that why you were gone? Scott just said something came up that you had to deal with.”

“Yeah, I flew up to go see her. We were expecting a baby and she had a miscarriage. She isn’t handling it well and is pushing everyone away. She won’t even talk to Becca.”

“Oh damn. I’m sorry, man. What’s your plan?”

Blowing out a breath, I let his question linger between us for a few moments. “I’m still trying to figure it out. But for now, I need to be here and focused on the game. I’ll give her the space she’s asked for, but once the season is over, that space is going to come to an end. She feels like it’s all her fault, and like I’m going to be mad at her. I’ve told her multiple times I’m not, and there isn’t any way I could be mad at her about losing the baby. I don’t know if I will fly up before Scott and Becca’s wedding to try and talk to her, or just wait until after.”

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. I’m here for you, man.”

“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it. If you could not say anything about it to anyone, she doesn’t want the news spreading. Scott knows, as does Coach, but no one else does.”

“No problem, but my offer stands. If you need anything, just let me know.”

After that, the conversation turns light, flowing around the table. Guys busting each other’s balls over stupid shit, while others try to build up the confidence and hype tonight’s game. I finish my meal fairly quickly, wanting to get home so I could try calling Kinley before I take my nap. I excuse myself from the group, pay my bill, and head home.

No surprise to me, but Kinley still hasn’t responded to my texts nor does she answer my call. I send a quick text to her mom, just to see how she’s doing.

Brian: Just wanted to check in on Kinley. She isn’t returning my calls or texts.

Jessica: As well as to be expected, I guess. She’s still shutting the world out. She won’t talk to me either.

Not being able to change anything about that, I plug my phone in and strip down for my nap.

I feel like I just closed my eyes, when I hear my alarm go off. Surprisingly, even with everything weighing on my mind, I was able to get a good solid three-hour nap in.

Arriving at the arena, changing, warming up, and going through my pre-game ritual all come second nature to me. I can do them on autopilot. By the time it’s nearly ready for the puck to drop, I’m itching to play, and play a little dirty. I can feel the fire in my veins. I need to work out some of the aggression from the past few days, and doing so on the ice is just what I need.

We line up, Murph at the center faceoff, ready to go. He easily wins the puck and drops it back to Scott as we work our way up the ice. Scott passes the puck to Chambers, just before he crosses over the blue line, keeping us clear of an offsides penalty. Chambers keeps control of the puck as he skates down and around the backside of the net, waiting for the rest of us to get set up. One of the Blues D-men drops into him, slamming him into the boards. That’s my cue to repay the hit and I skate hard, slamming him right back into the boards. Unfortunately for me, I see a zebra’s arm go up and a whistle blow.

I argue the entire way to the penalty box; it was a clean hit, but the way the ref saw it earned me two minutes in the box for boarding. Fucking bad call. Now my blood is boiling, I’m so pissed. I watch as my team has to fend off a penalty kill. Thankfully, we have one of the top penalty kill lines and they keep the Blues from scoring while I’m in the box.

My line is back on the ice when I’m let out, so I immediately get into position, doing my best to gain control of the puck and bring it back down to the other end. Eric “ET” Thompson, tips it as the Blues try and swing it around the boards, and is able to clear it out of the defensive zone and up into neutral ice. Scott and I both skate toward the bench as everyone clears out, looking for fresh legs to hit the ice.

On the bench, Coach comes up behind me, leaning down so he can talk to me.

“You need to calm down out there. No more shit penalties, you hear me. I need you on the ice, not in the box. Don’t make me regret pushing everything through to get you back out there.”

“Got it, Coach.” No sense trying to argue that the hit was clean, and the ref got it wrong.

The game moves quickly, and I do my best to play as clean of a game as I can while still playing dirty. The trick is just not getting caught.

We go into the first intermission still tied at zero. Coach follows us into the locker room, doling out his normal advice. I sit back, with my jersey and arm pads off, sucking back a sports drink to try and give my body a boost of electrolytes to keep from cramping up during the break in action.

We hit the ice for the second period, and I take a few laps around our half of the ice, to get the blood flowing again in my legs. The jet leg is catching up to me, and I need to fend it off for another few hours, until I can get home and crash.

My line isn’t on the ice for the puck drop, so I take a seat on the bench, paying attention to the action. James “Hunt” Hunter steals the puck in neutral ice; he’s one of the fastest centers we have, so he quickly breaks away slightly from the pack of guys following him. Just as he’s about to pull back and shoot the puck, he’s tripped up from behind, drawing the penalty.

Scott and I both jump over the boards at the same time, heading out to take our spots on the power play. The faceoff is in our attack zone, and Murph easily wins the puck. We quickly get set up, passing the puck around, each of us looking for the opening we need to slip it in the net. ET passes the puck to me, and I attempt to one time it at the net. Their goalie blocks it, but Chambers deflects the rebound right into the back of the net.

“That’s how it’s fucking done!” I yell into our circle as we all gather on the ice to celebrate. Because we scored, the guy in the box gets to come out, ending our power play.

Unfortunately for us, we don’t keep the momentum swing, and the Blues score about a minute later, tying us back up at one each. A few minutes later, they get one past Matt Soaps again, taking the lead. I’m good and pissed off after that goal, and am ready to throw down with the next guy who takes a cheap shot at one of our guys. Lucky for them, the buzzer sounds, ending the second period, and we head for the locker rooms.

At the start of the third period, I’m still itching for a fight. We also are on full burner mode, wanting to score again to at least tie the game back up, and then hopefully take over the lead. I see one of their D-men drop back to try and block Murph from skating up the boards, slamming him into them as he tries to push through. My target in sight, I skate his way, checking around me for the refs. I hack at his ankles with my stick as I skate past, egging him on.

“What’s your fucking problem, Kelly?” he hollers at me.

“You are, among other things,” I jab back at him.

He skates away, not yet ready to drop gloves with me, but I can feel it; he will. I just have to push him some more.

I chase after him, slamming him into the boards as we skate along the backside of their goal, both digging at the puck. He doesn’t take too kindly to me pinning his stick against the boards, and continuing to shove him into the glass.

“Quit being a pussy, Kelly, and play fucking hockey.”

“Who’d you just call a pussy?” I yell, dropping my stick and pushing him back in the chest. This gets the reaction I’m looking for, and he drops his stick and gloves to the ice. I remove my gloves, and we start circling each other, waiting to see who’s going to strike first. The game has come to a stop, as all the players and fans cheer us on. I strike him first, getting a good blow to his jaw. Not hard enough to do serious damage, but enough that he’ll feel it tomorrow.

He grabs me by the collar of my jersey, trying to strike my face. His fist skims my cheek, as I land another fist to his face. I miss his fist coming right back at me, and he gets me right in the eye. I can feel my brow split and seconds later, the blood is trickling down my face. The refs have had enough and jump in, breaking us apart. They send both of us down the tunnels, having earned five-minute majors for the fight, and there is less than that left in the game. Thankfully, the ref didn’t assess an instigator penalty against either of us, so there’s still a possibility I can return to the ice, if no one scores before my penalty is up.

I’m followed to the locker room by our trainer, Josh Burre. After I take a seat and pull off my jersey, he presses a towel to my face to stop the bleeding. Once it slows down, he’s able to take a good look, and decides I need a few stitches to keep it closed. We head off to one of the medical rooms, so he can stitch me up.

On our way to the medical room, we hear the goal horn sound. That’s good news for the guys, as that means we’ve tied up the game, giving us a chance to win again before we head to the Blues arena in a couple days. Going into their arena up two games to nothing gives us a momentum that’s hard to overcome. You never want to be the team down by two games in a best of seven series.

The game ends, and we’re still tied. Unlike regular season hockey, playoff hockey doesn’t have shootouts. We get a fifteen-minute break, and then it’s sudden death, full twenty-minute hockey until the first team scores. As much as the fight was what I was looking for, we need a win. Now that we’ve made it to OT, I can go back out and sit out the remainder of my penalty, then possibly help the guys again on the ice.

We get back out on the ice; everyone’s tired, but ready to get this game finished. I take my place in the box for the remaining penalty time. I’ve got just over a minute and a half to sit through, but then I still have to wait for the next whistle to blow after that before they will let me out of the box.

As the clock ticks down on my penalty, neither team has been successful with getting control and keeping it long enough to get any real shots off. My time ends, but the play is still in motion. I watch what’s happening closely, waiting for a stoppage, so I can get out and go. As Chambers brings the puck up the ice, he slips past the D-line, making it over the blue line. He’s got a good amount of distance between him and any other player, and does his best to pull their goaltender out of his crease, trying to fake him out on what side he’s going to go for. Left, right, left; the goalie anticipates he’s going right again, but at the last second, he pulls the puck left again and sneaks it past the goalie’s pads. Goal light on, we win!

I rush out of the penalty box as the rest of my team jumps the boards, and we all pile on Chambers.

After the celebrations end, and I’ve showered and changed, I head home. We fly out to St. Louis tomorrow and play the day after.

I make it home and after packing my bag so I’m ready to go tomorrow, I settle in and pull out my phone. Still nothing from Kinley, but I try calling her anyway. I don’t expect her to answer and am not shocked when I get her voicemail.

“Kin, it’s me. Call me,” I sigh into the phone. “Text me, FaceTime me, anything. Please, baby.” I pause. “I need to know you’re okay. I miss you, and love you. Please, Kin, don’t shut me out.” Her voicemail cuts me off before I can say anything else. Knowing she won’t pick up, there’s no point trying to call again, just to leave another message that says the same things over and over again.