Since I was a kid, making it into the World Hockey League was the ultimate goal. No relationship could match my first love, and after my rough childhood, I wasn't putting my heart on the line.
When Bellerive makes a successful bid to move the Califo...
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Watching him play has become one of the great joys in my life. He's so fast, so skilled, so confident that it's hard to tear my gaze away from him the minute his skate hits the slick surface. Luckily, working with him has meant that I don't have to focus on anyone but him.
As the clock on the third period ticks down, it's hard to reconcile that this might be the last game I watch him play in person. I checked the standings a few minutes ago, and all the dominoes that needed to knock each other to put the Bullets in the playoffs haven't happened. The opposite, actually.
There's a last-minute rush as Logan, Radek, and Auston fly down the ice together headed for the opposition's goal. Their line is actually spectacular. If the whole team didn't fall apart the minute their line sat on the bench, this team might be something. And as the season has worn on, Logan's become more frustrated that he can't be on the ice all the time, that many of his teammates haven't stepped up, that the coaching staff hasn't been able to get the team to level up.
Radek passes to Auston, who chips the puck over another player's stick to hit Logan's at exactly the right moment for Logan to flick it into the top corner before he runs into the net.
The crowd goes wild—noisemakers, screams of joy—even though we're still one goal down with only seconds left in the game. Perhaps that's the nice part about representing a country with very few who followed hockey before this year. Having a star player, one who scores as often as Logan and with so much flourish, is enough. The spectacle is more impressive than the standings. If only Logan and I lived in that world too.
The buzzer sounds to end the game, and as the players are shaking hands, Tamiko sends me a text.
They're talking trade up here in the box. Brace yourself. Dalton wants a deal with Oregon.
I'd heard rumblings of where Logan might go, but Oregon is the worst case scenario. A new conference. No games in or against Bellerive unless both teams somehow make it to the cup finals. Otherwise, they'll never face each other.
More than anything, I hate that Dalton is in control of Logan's career. That, somehow, that spiteful man is still determining aspects of my life. There are few things I regret in my life, but talking to Dalton at the first charity event, being charmed by him, seeing flags that looked more orange than red and ignoring them until the red was leaking out of my head in the form of blood is the greatest regret of my life.
Instead of going into the dressing rooms, Logan comes back to the bench and he beckons me down. There's a side entrance into the bench, and he unlocks the door to bring me in. We've never done this transition before during a game, but I've been through this way during a practice or when Logan's just come here to skate.
He holds up a puck. "For your collection."
"I have a collection?" I ask with a hint of a smile.
"First goal I scored with you at an away game. And this is the last goal I'll score as a Bullet."
