This was bullshit.

I played nine hundred and thirty games for the NHL over a twelve-year career and I had never missed a game. Not for illness, not because of an injury, and not because of a suspension.

Until now.

I was a good player. Classy was the word many commentators called me. Professional was another. I had been up for a Lady Bing trophy three times throughout my career. I was a gentleman on the ice. I rarely fought, and for the most part, I kept my temper in check.

Last night, during an intense battle against our cross-town rivals, I checked Simon Kerchuck. It was a late hit, I knew that. I was okay with the interference call I got during the game. I skated over to the box myself and sat out my two minutes.

When I heard the Player Safety wanted to review the hit however, I started to worry. I rewatched the play multiple times, slowed down, from all angles. I never left my feet and Kerchuck turned into the hit, crouched low, trying to get the puck for himself. It was the only reason why my shoulder clipped his chin. It wasn’t my intention to go for the hit, and it certainly wasn’t my intention to hit him late

But that was what had happened, and there was nothing I could do about it. I just hoped they would take my history into consideration.

A day later, I had my answer. They didn’t.

I was suspended for two games. Two games. I could understand a fine. The hit was late, and whether it was intentional or not, I did hit Kerchuck’s face. Suspending me for two games though implied that I was being dirty on purpose.

Rose tried to comfort me as best she could. It didn’t work. I appreciated her efforts, but I needed to be alone. I grabbed my golden retriever, stuck on his leash, and headed out of our condo and right onto the beach. I needed some time to myself to clear my head. Rose didn’t like it. I knew she took it personally no matter what I told her, but I didn’t want to say something stupid and then have us get into a fight.

We had been fighting a lot lately and I hated it. The best thing I could do was remove myself from the situation, so I wouldn’t make things worse between us.

I took Simba out all the way to the pier before jogging home. The expensive houses were built up rather than out because land was so hard to obtain right on the beach. Some of these places could net four figures a week, especially during the summer. And why not? These places had seven bedrooms, a patio barbecue on the roof, luxury living with a beautiful view. I made an envious salary but I was happy with my condo on the beach. Three bedrooms, two-stories, a two-car garage... and lots of space for my dog, Simba

By the time I got home, the sun was setting. I had been out a good few hours, purposefully leaving my cell phone connected to its charger. I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now. I’d rather go running, forget about everything and everyone until I was ready to face them. I didn’t want the pity or the anger. I wasn’t ready for the questions. I realized that made me selfish, perhaps even immature, but I didn’t particularly care. I was allowed to mourn something only three other people in the entire NHL had ever managed to accomplish.

When I got home, Rose was in the kitchen, cooking. I could smell the grilled chicken and felt my stomach rumble. I was hungry. 

“Hey,” I said, walking over to her after pulling off the leash and letting Simba run over to his bowl of dog food. 

I came up behind her and kissed her bare shoulder. The last bit of sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, making Rose’s dark hair light brown for just a fleeting moment. She tensed under my touch, something I had never seen from her before. She had to know it was me; Simba’s heavy breathing gave us away.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low. She stopped chopping up the lettuce for the homemade salad she was currently preparing.

I waited. I knew what that meant. It was one word paired with a low voice and a tense back. It was eyes that wouldn’t meet mine and shoulders hunched forward.

“Are you okay?” It probably wasn’t the best question to ask a woman who clearly was not okay, but I didn’t know what else to say... and I knew I had to say something.

“We need to talk.” 

Fuck me.

“I don’t want to break up,” she quickly said. “I just want to know what’s going on with you. Granted, I know you’re upset about the suspension, and you have every right to be. It’s just not healthy for you to close up and run off though. At least tell me you won’t have your phone, so I don’t freak out when I can’t reach you.”

“What was so important that you needed to call me?” I asked. I hoped my voice didn’t come across as arrogant or uncaring. I did care. I did... but I just didn’t want to deal with this right now. Later, absolutely, but the timing was all wrong.

“That’s not the point,” she said. She was snippy, but I could tell she wasn’t trying to be. Rose was never one to have attitude or to instigate issues. She was actually the perfect girlfriend... for the most part. “Something really important happened to me yesterday, but I’ve been holding off on telling you because I don’t want to be insensitive to what you’re going through. Doctor Border called and I got the part of Doctor Lisa Maddy.”

“That’s great, Rose,” I told her, and I meant it.

“The only problem is, Drew,” she said, her voice hesitating, “it films in Vancouver. Shooting starts in August, but we have read throughs in July. I know you’ll be able to come with me until mid-August but I’m out there full-time until spring.”

“I know,” I said. 

“And I would never, ever make you choose between hockey and me,” she continued. “I know how much you love the sport and I would never put you in that position. But...”

There was a but. Of course there was a but. 

She lifted her brown eyes off the floor so she could lock them with mine.

“Andrew, I’m nearly thirty,” she said. “I want a family and I have so few precious years in order to better ensure a healthy pregnancy - for the most part. I could do long-distance - we’ve done it before - but not without the expectation that we get married and start having children. Soon.”

Fuck me.