Delayed Penalty (36 page)

Breakaway – When a player has possession of the puck and no defenders other than the goalie between him and the opposing goal.

"You know, when you two get married, you should do it at the United Center and then when you say I do, they could play
Chelsea Dagger
and throw hats on the ice and—"

"Caitlin!" I finally cut her off. "Stop that."

"Sorry," she mumbled, sufficiently chastised. My dad glared at me.

Ami gave me a look like I shouldn't have shouted at my sister. "She's practically planning our wedding. She needs to stop."

"Oh, she's just talking." Ami handed me a hot dog from the grill. "There are no plans."

We were outside having a family barbeque, more than likely the last one before training camp started.

"There might be eventually," I hinted, adjusting my hat and then sitting down at the picnic table next to her. "And they should be
our
plans." I kissed her cheek. "Not my sister's."

Ami smiled and relaxed against me.

The thought of us getting married someday was something I entertained, it was comforting even, but neither of us were ready for that. Eventually, maybe even next year, or the year after, but there was no rush. Neither one of us were going anywhere. I loved her. She loved me. That was all that mattered.

I wasn't the same guy I was when I met Ami. I didn't regret how I reacted when I found out it was Dave, my so-called friend, and I would do it again, even if it ended my career. At the same time, that night changed me.

I wasn't naïve, and I never have been.

What Ami went through, and her outlook on life paled in comparison to anything I'd ever done. On top of all that shit with her family, she was welcomed to Chicago in a very brutal way, and still, she moved on with the carefree soul and starry eyes I loved.

When I met her grandmother in Oregon, I saw just how much of herself she gave me. She gave me everything when she met me, every little piece of herself that no one else saw. She gave me that unconditionally, too. As if it was her heart's way of saying, "This is the guy, give him everything and see if he can breakaway." I did.

If someone asked me how she changed me, I would tell them my perspective. All that she went through everyday didn't mean anything. There were worse things in life to be bent over. So what if you were stuck in traffic or you locked yourself out of the car? So what if you missed the penalty shot in a playoff game? Didn't happen to me, by the way, I rocked that motherfucker, but what I was getting at was there were worse things to have happen to you. Ami was what changed that perspective, if I ever had thought that way. Maybe I didn't. But she kept me from ever swinging that way in the first place.

What I realized, what I lived for now, was the bond.

No bond is greater than the ones you'll bleed for.

I would bleed for this girl, and I would lay everything on the line and cross any line to protect her. Saving a life was worth something to me.

This girl came into my life for a reason.

I was meant to save her, and I was meant to fall in love with her, and this girl was the reason my life had gone the directions it had.

Hockey owned me. Good or bad, it knew everything about the sweat and blood I poured into it and gave me gratification in return. It gave me the adrenaline I needed, the joy, the love, and the thrill of victory.

Then I fell in love with Ami Sutton.

That was when I found out there was something else that I enjoyed just as much. Being with a girl, loving a girl, taking care of a girl, and giving myself to a girl. She showed me a side of myself that had been there all along. It was just pushed aside by my love for hockey.

Up until that night that I'd found her, I believed that nothing would come close to the way I felt about hockey. Now I know better.

After the barbeque, Ami and I walked through my childhood neighborhood, hand in hand, laughing at all the crazy shit I did in this city as a kid.

Once again, I was reminded of my time spent on these streets. Fingers numb, noses running, each game back then played with a face off and we didn't stop. Fast paced, we played to play.

Nothing mattered when we were that age. Steady laughter, hacking shots, we would hide ourselves out there until we couldn't see the light of the day anymore. And then we'd play some more until our moms came calling. We were just kids, but you couldn't tell us that. We thought we were the shit.

I laughed when I saw a group of kids playing hockey at the end of the street. Some were wearing Penguins jerseys, and one little guy, who looked to be on defense, was wearing a Blackhawks number five jersey.

"He's adorable," Ami said, laughing when he scored and began his victory dance, similar to the Stanley Cup dance I did.

"Shit has changed since then." We watched the kids on the street pushing the puck around. Ami snuggled against my side, her arm linked in mine. "But to those kids, that street, it remains untouched, unchanged, a link to a time and place that will always remind them of the game."

My arms loosened around her, her head lifted from my shoulder and eased back just far enough that I was able to look down at her. She understood exactly what I meant. Every memory was a link to another time and place, connecting what needed to be connected.

Five on five – This is when both teams have five skaters and one goaltender on the ice and they are considered full strength.

Game 36 – Nashville Predators

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

As the season kicked off and we got into the groove of road trips and nightly games, our lives twisted and turned, intertwining around the Chicago Blackhawks schedule. What remained the same was my relationship with Ami.

Ami was going to counseling now and attending the local college, though she was taking mostly online classes. I had issues with her being out late at night. You could imagine why. She still danced. I still came back from road trips and found her dancing around our living room, in my Junior Hockey jersey she loved to wear. Every time it still got to me.

And for us, we were just us. The same as we always had been. You always heard about these relationships, mostly conveyed in any romance novel or movie out there, where the couple got together and something, maybe their mistakes, tore them apart. Then they broke up. Some realized their mistakes got back together, others don't.

With our relationship, it was formed in the least likely way. The worst way if you asked me, but something pushed us together. She believed it was Andrew. Even after the fight with Dave, nothing could tear us apart. I kept waiting, thinking something would, but it hadn't come yet, and I was perfectly fine with that.

It was quickly approaching the one year mark of that night, and with that brought Christmas. It took me a long time to decide what to get Ami, for the simple fact that nothing would express what she meant to me or what we'd been through—two things I wanted portrayed in any gift I gave her. I wasn't the type of guy to flash around a fancy gift for the simple gesture that I could; it was more about coming from the heart, something I was good at.

So I picked out a nice sterling silver bracelet and then added charms to it. One was, of course, two hockey sticks crossed over each other. The other was of a guy taking a slap shot—the number five for two reasons. There was a ballerina, a baseball glove, and a piston and a shovel for her mother and father.

I wasn't sure how she would feel about it, but I wanted something that came from the heart and told her just how much our lives were intertwined now and always had been in some strange sense.

After the game in Nashville I was flying home to Pittsburgh where Ami was waiting for me with my family.

Before I could get there, we had a game to win.

"Who's that?" I asked Leo during warm-ups, watching a large bull-shouldered man stretch his stick over his arms.

"Their new d-man from Australia, Beckham Lapanta. He's lookin' for you," Leo taunted, circling me.

"Mase, he'll kick your ass," Remy warned me. "I wouldn't exactly send a message right now."

Well, I didn't say I was going to start anything with this guy, but his words made it seem almost like a challenge. Some of the other guys came over and told me the same thing. It was like the bastards were taunting me, just trying to push a little. I hadn't spent nearly as much time in the penalty box this year as I had last year.

Unfortunately for me, anytime someone told me I couldn't do something, my brain wanted to prove them wrong, and it got my body thinking I could.

Turns out, I did get my ass kicked by that Lapanta guy. But you know what? He had a nice shiner from me, too. That guy wasn't overly large, but what he lacked in size he made up for it in orneriness—orneriness I spent the entire game fighting off.

With a towel held to my face on the bench, Leo chuckled. "Want me to lay him out for you?"

"Yeah, right." I blew it off, and he seemed concerned that I didn't think he was serious.

"Listen, Mase, I would fight anyone for you." He looked up at the play in front of us when Remy slammed their center off his feet. "Well, not Remy or Travis. Or Tyler. But maybe Ryan? I'd definitely fight that son of a bitch for you."

"Thanks," I said, tossing the towel aside and barreling over the wall for my shift.

The Predators started out quickly, moving the puck into our zone and keeping it there for the first few minutes of the first period. Then, with commitment, we stiffened and pushed back. The game turned and moved to center zone. Play was sloppy on both parts, possession changes with every pass, but it seemed scoring changes were given up to things like off-sides and penalties. The game remained scoreless until well into the second period.

With an extra man on after the Predators were called on a hooking penalty, we found the coordination we were missing. Leo found an opening and managed to put one on the board for us.

The Predators tied the game quickly, scoring after I was called on a penalty against checking their right wing into the goalie. He tripped. I was standing my ground on that one.

Late in the third period, we scored again. That was when the game seemed to stop. As the defending Stanley Cup champions, we were in control and pushed the puck. I could sense the same feeling in the crowd. They knew their chance at victory was over when we were lining up on play after another.

Leo was an animal, lurking in the back, unnoticed until you least expected it. As the puck entered the Predators zone, he'd accelerate to the net with quick chopping strides and cracked one in the top corner.

Because of his style, because of the way he played the game, the moment we were under control was the moment he shoved that victory down their throats. We ended up scoring three more goals in the last eight minutes of play.

Leo's style, much like mine, was learned in street hockey in South Philly where he grew up with neighborhood kids. Quick shots that offered no room for second chances. That style was why he was the number one draft pick the year he entered and the captain of the team his first season. He led us.

After the win, we spread out on the plane, sitting with our respective partners we always sat with. It was always the same for us: checking phones, Facebook, Twitter, newspapers, stretching out looking like anyone else on a plane. But we weren't. We were the Chicago Blackhawks defending our Cup title.