Eli leads us out!” Levi calls out to the team as we make our way down the tunnel toward the awaiting ice.

I know what they’re doing. I’ve dreamed about it my entire life. A new player always leads the team onto the ice for his first game, only the team doesn’t follow right away. They let the player skate out there by himself for a lap or two. It’s tradition and a rite of passage. The announcer hollers out our team name and I step onto the ice. I can’t contain the grin on my face. I skate a circle slowly around our side of the ice, all by myself, and look up at the stands. There are more than a few Thunder jerseys lining the glass even though it’s the Royales’ arena. They’re clapping wildly and slapping the glass. I make sure to skate along the boards, smiling at all of them.

This is it. I fucking did it.

I turn, expecting to see the rest of the team skating onto the ice, but only Levi steps through the gate. The crowd roars and I know they’ve singled us out on the jumbotron. He skates right up to me as I stop in the crease in front of the net. He taps his helmet to mine and I can see that his dark brown eyes are more watery than normal. “Kill it, Eli.”

He skates away and the rest of the team floods the ice. Warm-up is great. They pepper me with pucks and I stop almost all of them. I’m feeling incredible, completely on my game. It helps that on the bus on the way here from the hotel Dixie texted me. Just three words. Go Eli Go! Knowing she’s supporting me gives me a jolt of serenity when chaos has been creeping in. Now adrenaline is pumping through my body and so is confidence. I’m ready. I’m hungry. Let’s do this.

The first period goes okay. Not great. I stop six shots but let one in. So does the Royales goalie, though, eight minutes after me, so we’re tied. We’re halfway through the second and my adrenaline has turned to nerves and I have no idea why. It’s supposed to get easier, not harder. I can’t stop a wrister from one of the Royales defensemen who stole the puck from Duncan Darby a foot from my net. It slides right through my five hole.

Not a big deal, I remind myself. No one gets a shutout on his debut. I didn’t expect to, even though I wanted to. It’s not a weak goal. It’s not a reflection on me…but it feels that way. And now we’re down by one again.

The game starts to get more aggressive. There’s a fight, and both guys are given penalties so we’re four-on-four and the faceoff is just to the left of me. We don’t win it and someone takes a shot on me. I block it but don’t get the rebound. There’s two guys in front of me—one of the Royales trying to block my view and Duncan Darby trying to shove the Royale out of my way. I can’t see the puck. I frantically dart my head around trying to catch a glimpse of the play. Duncan and the Royale are spearing and cross-checking the heck out of each other. I hear a stick slap the puck. Duncan shoves the guy in front of me, hard. He starts to fall back, grabbing Duncan’s jersey to take him with him.

It’s a mass of limbs and jerseys, and I can’t take my eyes off their stumbling feet. My attention is riveted to the gleam of their skate blades. They’re less than a foot from me, and as the two fall their feet fly up and I finally move—sideways, away from them and away from the puck sailing over my left shoulder and into the net. I never even saw it coming.

The goal buzzer rips through the arena, rattling me even further, as if that was fucking possible. Braddock skates by. “Shake it off,” he commands.

Levi is staring at me from center ice. I can feel it, and when I look up, even though he’s too far away for me to make out his features, I can feel the concern radiating off him. It’s not helping. I don’t know what the fuck will settle me, but that’s not it.

Six minutes later they score again on a tip I should have caught, and then, when they do it again not even thirty seconds later, I see Coach Schneider point to Rollins and he gets up from his perch on the bench. I’m being pulled from the game.

I don’t talk to anyone between second and third periods. I keep my eyes glued to a chunk of black tape stuck to the matte gray floor between my skates. No one talks to me either. No one is really talking to anyone. The mood is dark and the coach’s speech is short. “Get it done. We are better than them. Prove it.”

Eddie lets in two more goals in the third and we only score one more. We lose to a team that’s not even in playoff contention. I’m the first to make it into the locker room, and I have to use every ounce of frayed restraint I have not to hurl my equipment to the ground as I take it off. I don’t get to throw a tantrum. I haven’t earned it. I haven’t earned anything.

The coach enters the locker room as we start to undress. “We won back-to-back Cups, and if we want to win one more and have three in four years we need to not do this again. It’s dynasty or fluke. Take your pick.”

“Dynasty,” Levi replies firmly. A bunch of other guys repeat the word too. I say nothing, but I nod.

Coach walks toward the door but turns back. “The PR department shortened the media scrum tonight. It’ll be five minutes and only five reporters.” He looks at me. “Heads up high. Answers positive. This too shall pass if you want it to.”

He leaves and two minutes later, as I pull off my jersey, the reporters file in and head straight to me. I grab my gray team hoodie. Lots of guys give interviews half naked, but I’m already feeling too exposed, so I throw it on, leaving it unzipped but pulling the hood up. I sit on the bench as they form a semicircle around me and start peppering me with questions. Stuff like: Was it nerves? What threw me off my game? How did I plan to improve? Did I think I should start the next game? What did it feel like to play with my brother professionally for the first time?

I answered everything with the most positive spin I could muster. I did have some nerves but it’s no excuse. I need to be better. Nothing threw me off my game. I’m just adjusting and I need to do it faster. And I will. They’re lies but the reporters seem to believe me. The only thing I don’t lie about is playing with my brother. I look at the NHL Network reporter and say, “It’s a dream come true.”

“Just gotta work on that nightmare ending, buddy,” Eddie pipes in with a cool smile and slaps my back as he comes to sit beside me. It’s not even his fucking spot. He just wants to get the reporters’ attention, which he does. I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to talk to them anymore anyway, so when they turn to him I finish unlacing my skates, stand up and walk to the other part of the room, by the showers, to finish undressing there.

I head into the showers, the water on cool because I’m trying to dull the hot sting of humiliation coursing through me. I just want to get on the plane, take a seat at the back by myself, throw in my earbuds and ignore the world. We’re headed to Toronto tonight for a game tomorrow night. Then Michigan and then home, where we’ll be three days off before our first home game back.

When we get on the plane, I slip into the last row, put in my earbuds and stare out the window. No one sits next to me because I’m pretty sure they realize my shitty mood is taking up the whole row. But twenty minutes into the flight, Levi drops down beside me. I pretend not to notice, my eyes still glued to the black abyss outside my window. He hands me a pack of Reese’s Pieces he must’ve grabbed from the snack bin they keep stocked for us in the galley. They’ve been my favorite candy since I was six. I take them without meeting his eye. “Thanks.”

“I know it’s cliché and fucking annoying as all hell, but you have to shake it off,” he says in a low, calm voice.

I turn to him and give him an Oscar-worthy smile. “I know. I’m good. I just wish my off game didn’t have to be tonight.”

“Was it nerves?” he asks. “I remember my first game I was so nervous I thought I was going to piss myself the entire first period, and I almost did the first time I got the puck.”

I smirk at that. “I wish you had so we could make adult diapers a standard part of your gear,” I joke. He laughs and flips me the bird at the same time. “And I wasn’t that nervous.”

“So was it the injury?”

I try not to grit my teeth and ask him in a clearly confused tone, “What injury?”

“The neck,” he says, frowning because he has no idea why he needs to elaborate.

“Why would I suddenly get antsy about something that happened a billion years ago?” I ask him and shake my head before giving him another easygoing grin. “It was an off game. One of those days where nothing goes right no matter how hard you try. We all have them. Remember that game last season where you scored on your own net?”

His dark eyes get darker. “I accidentally deflected the puck toward Noah. Total fluke.”

“Yeah. I have the clip of it on my phone if you want to see it again.” I laugh as he scowls. “Anyway, that’s my point. This game was a total fluke for me too. And like you said, I will shake it off and move on.”

“Okay.” He’s not convinced and he’s not even trying to hide it. He scratches the back of his head and leans forward. “Well, if it’s not a fluke, then you need to figure out what it is. And honestly, Eli, as your captain, I have to tell you, you don’t get a lot of time before they’ll write you off.”

“The team?”

“The team, the fans, the league,” he says and sighs. “Everyone.”

The league isn’t forgiving. And it’s even harder on goalies. I know this, but hearing Levi say it makes the reality feel even heavier. I stare at the unopened Reese’s Pieces bag. Levi nudges me. “What can I do? Do you want to talk about it? To me or someone else? Do you want me to practice with you one on one?”

I shake my head. “I don’t need help. I’ll be fine. I’ll be great. I promise.”

“Eli…”

I finally look up. I know my face is still pink with shame and now it’s turning red because of anger. Not at him, at my life. “I know you want to make this into a big deal for some reason, but you need to stop. It was a bad day. The end. And I can’t shake it the fuck off if you won’t let it go.”

“Okay.” He backs off instantly and without offense. I tear open the Reese’s Pieces, pop a handful into my mouth, then offer him the bag. He takes some, which is surprising because he’s such a health nut during the season. “Okay, well, your brother will back off, but your captain can’t.”

I grit my teeth for a second but I nod. “So, Captain, what do you suggest I do?”

“Focus,” he replies, swallowing the Reese’s Pieces. “It’s not a bullshit word. You have to live, breathe, eat hockey and only hockey. No distractions. No women. No booze. No nothing. If it’s your entire life you’ll fix it because living in the failure will be unbearable. Because you’re not a failure, Elijah.”

Then he stands up and strides down the plane aisle to his seat next to Jude near the front.

I don’t know if he’s right, but it’s worth a try. That means cutting out Dixie. Completely. I’ve been thinking about her nonstop since I left her, fantasizing about ways to get her to break the rules and start seeing me anyway. If Levi is right, then I need to stop doing that. Not only do I need to stop thinking about her, I need to avoid her when I get back to San Fran instead of finding ways to run into her, which is what I was planning on doing. The thought is uncomfortable and even painful, but I will do anything to make this work. I’ve risked my life for this career. I’ve alienated my parents. I’ve given up my education. I have to try anything to make it work.