Go For the Helmet
The neon red glow of the clock read 20:00. Adrenaline rushed through Ryan’s veins as he prepared for the first faceoff of the final period. His opposite centre wore a face of determination, but Ryan knew that he would win the faceoff. He always did.
The whistle blew, shattering the background noise mumbling through the arena. The puck fell out of the referee’s hand, and before it even landed on the ice, the arena was filled with the sound of hockey sticks hitting against one another and the skates of both boys scraping across the ice.
Ryan won the faceoff, the puck was now in Helena’s possession. Ryan skated forward, expecting to receive the pass, but he felt someone shove him out of the way. The arena was loud, but Ryan could pick out someone yelling “What the fuck ref!? That was clear interference!” and someone responding with "Hey, shut up faggot!" He glanced at who had pushed him out of the way, his blood boiled when his eyes registered the name Urie with a gigantic “03” underneath it.
His recovery was quick, and the puck hit against his stick with a loud “thwack”. Ryan started to carry the puck up the ice, but Urie was back on him. With one strong body check, Ryan was down and his possession of the puck was completely lost. Ryan couldn’t take a check, and Urie knew that.
It took him a moment to regain his stance, and by that time, the whistle had blown again. Ryan laughed a little to himself when he realized Urie had iced the puck for literally no reason, like the dumbass he was.
Both teams quickly made line changes, and Ryan was now on the bench.
“Good play boys,” Coach Stump said reassuringly. Ryan knew that he wasn’t happy with his inability to receive a check, but he’d live. Everyone knew Ryan was the best player on the team, with the exception of Spencer. He was a goalie, they weren’t even comparable.
Ryan’s eyes wandered to the timekeeping box, where he recognized the smiling faces of Jon Walker and his girlfriend Cassie, the two regular timekeepers for his home games. They went to the same high school as Ryan, but he had never spoken to them outside of the arena. They were laughing and talking about something, barely paying attention to the game.
On the other side of the penalty box sat the other team and their coaches. The one coach was furiously telling off players on the bench. The coach looked familiar but Ryan didn’t give it further thought.
His attention turned back towards the game, as he watched his players and the Hurricanes’ grapple one another for the puck. Ryan’s team was much stronger than the other, and they kept the puck well away from their half and the net situated at the very end. Ryan’s lip twitched over his mouthguard as he watched their goalie, Spencer Smith, slide back and forth on his skates impatiently. But it was better to have a bored goalie than a busy one.
With the puck in the other team’s half, Ryan’s team performed another line change and Ryan prepared to go on at the next opportunity. The Hurricanes were losing badly now, nine to zero, and it seemed that despite changing up players again for the new season, they were still the goon team they had always been. It was just matter of time before the refs called another penalty.
The forward’s bench door opened, and Nick came off. Ryan bolted from his place on the bench and onto the ice, immediately chasing after the puck. Once it was in his possession, he carried it up the ice and towards the net. He faked out the goalie, and in a matter of seconds, the puck left his stick and ended up in the five-hole. The whistle blew and the referee pointed his hand stiffly at the net, indicating Ryan had scored. He let himself fall onto the ice and threw his stick up into the air, his signature celebration. As he caught his Sherwood, he overheard Urie grumble something under his breath, but chose to ignore it. It wouldn’t be worth it to pick a fight right now.
It wasn’t until hats started falling onto the ice that Ryan realized he had scored his third goal of the game. Despite the cold of the arena, Ryan felt some kind of rush of warmth and happiness grow in his stomach. The glowing red of the scoreboard now had a 10 under the word Home. This was where he was meant to be.
His excitement was short lived, the ref picked up all of the hats that had fallen on the ice and threw them back up into the stands, signaling that the players needed to line up for the next faceoff.
Ryan must have been thrown off by all of his excitement, as Weekes, the opposite centre, won the faceoff. What? Ryan never lost a faceoff. Never. Weekes somehow managed to make a breakaway and all Ryan could see of him was the huge 13 on his back. Ryan tried to catch up and protect the puck, but alas, his efforts were for none. Weekes had managed to score the first goal of the game for the Hurricanes; the Huskies no longer had a shutout.
The Hurricanes skated over to crowd Weekes, as if he’d scored the winning goal of the Stanley Cup final game rather than a pointless goal in a game they would lose anyway. They patted Weekes’ helmet with their gloves, and despite how much the Hurricanes were losing by, Ryan felt a hint of jealousy at the camaraderie of the team. He would never receive that kind of praise for any goal he scored, and he knew that.
That feeling dissipated as Urie skated over to him, his mouth guard dangling from his teeth and grinning viciously.
“Hey Ross!” he called, then his voice quieted. “Pretty fucking terrible face off you just had? God, your reaction time is awful.”
Ryan glared at him but said nothing.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Urie skated up closer to him, forcing all of Ryan’s attention to him. “You can’t recover from checks, can’t chase after players. You’re slow and you’ll never make it to the NHL.”
“Fuck off, Urie” Ryan replied coldly. “I don’t need to fight you today.”
“But you want to right?” the look in his eyes changed, from cocky and mean to downright maniacal.
“I said fuck off!” Ryan shoved him lightly and tried to skate away. Urie just followed him, continuing to throw insults.
“You know maybe if you were a better player, the rest of your team wouldn’t need to pull the slack all the time,” Urie chirped. “Or maybe they’re doing that cus your goalie can’t play and they gotta make sure the puck is never close to him.”
Ryan glanced briefly to Spencer just as Dan was giving his pads a probe with his stick, and then turned around and swung his fist at Urie.
He hit Urie in the chest knocking him backwards but Urie regained balance, dropped his stick and dove straight at Ryan’s chest, grabbing at his jersey. As Urie pushed him back, Ryan shook off his gloves and brought his bare hands down against Urie’s shoulders. Urie looped his arms around Ryan’s neck, trying to get him in a chokehold or just get his helmet off. Ryan ground his teeth against his mouthguard, thought of Spencer’s face when they would lose hockey games and switched from overhand punching, to underhand, aiming for Urie’s ribs and stomach.
Around them the referees were blowing whistles and from the corner of his eye Ryan could see two of them skating quickly towards them. He tried to shove Urie off of him but Urie held on tight. Urie let go from his hold on Ryan’s neck and punched Ryan in the abdomen. Ryan gasped slightly, but the adrenaline and padding for the most part masked the pain. He grabbed Urie’s shoulder and punched him again, unwilling to be let himself seem hesitant. Urie choked and redoubled his efforts as well.
Suddenly the referees were surrounding them, and Ryan was pulled off of Urie. But then Urie shoved the ref off of him and lunged back at Ryan, swinging his fists. He hit Ryan directly and finally knocked his helmet back. Rage rekindled, Ryan grabbed a hold of Urie again and they struggled together, Urie attempting to hit Ryan’s face and Ryan holding him away. Somewhere in the back of his head Ryan could a whistle still blowing, but it was muffled from the pulsing in his forehead.
Ryan managed to get the last punch before the referees wrenched them away from each other. The referee blocked Ryan from moving towards Urie.
“Stay back,” he said sternly as Ryan seethed in anger, skating back in forth to get around the ref.
The centre ref pointed at Ryan and then behind him to the exit and repeated the actions for Urie. While the game would continue for all of the other players, it was over for them.
Urie pulled off his helmet and his eyes never left Ryan as he skated to pick up his gloves and stick. Ryan held his gaze, picking up his own equipment and avoiding the knowing stares and quiet taunts of his teammates behind him.
The two skated off the ice, and as Ryan stepped onto the rubber floor he cursed quietly and stomped off to the change room.
After taking off his equipment, Ryan packed it up and slung the huge bag over his shoulder. He stuck his head out of the change room to see if Urie was in the hallway. As he wasn’t, Ryan exited the changeroom and made his way through the narrow halls into the lobby.
He found an empty silver bench, and sunk down into it, dropping his hockey bag off of his shoulder and onto the ground in front of him. He pulled his phone out of the media pocket of his salty grey Roots sweatpants, clicking it on. His lock screen displayed the usual photo of him and Spencer kissing a trophy from last year’s GTHL championships, but no notifications. He smiled to himself remembering how well they played that game, how much they really deserved that win.
Brendon emerged from the hallway as Ryan locked his phone and put it back into his pocket. There was so much tension in the room that Ryan’s chest felt heavy.
Brendon’s hair was wet, either he had just showered, or more likely, judging by the beads of sweat still falling from his hairline, he was sweaty. The bottom two buttons of his red flannel were undone, revealing a tiny triangle of peachy flesh between the fabric and his black ripped skinny jeans. How did he get those on after working up that much of a sweat? He ran his fingers through his thick black hair before taking a seat on the bench at the opposite end of the lobby. He looked far more mature than the last time Ryan had seen him, almost as though he was an entirely different person. That didn’t prevent Ryan from feeling disdain boiling in his stomach from the sight of him.
Ryan felt a vibration on his upper thigh, then pulled his phone back out, this time the messages logo flashed up on his screen, with the name Keltie Colleen underneath. He slid the notification to the right, and typed in his password, which was obviously two copies of Sidney Crosby’s number.
The newest message read Where r u with a little red heart emoji. Ryan quickly typed back Lobby, then locked his phone and placed it back in his pocket.
He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started walking in the direction of the snack bar. Hate boiled in his stomach as he passed Brendon, who was vigorously typing something, probably vague tweeting about what had just happened.
“Ryan! Did you get kicked out again?” the familiar, pretty blonde girl standing behind the counter laughed. Ryan could hear high-heeled boots clomping off in the distance.
“Very funny, Z. I did,” he replied.
“God, you have got to stop fighting with that Urie kid,” she giggled.
“It was his fault!” Ryan exclaimed.
“Sure, sure,” Z nodded sarcastically. “So, what can I get you today?”
Ryan suddenly felt thin hands on his shoulders, and a kiss pressed against his cheek. A waxy pink lipstick stain would definitely remain where her lips had just left. His bag fell off of his shoulder and landed on the ground with a loud thump.
“You played such a great game today, Ryan. I’m so proud of my future NHL-er,” Keltie smiled. Ryan could practically feel Z rolling her eyes.
“Thanks,” Ryan replied flatly.
“Oh, hey Z!” Keltie smiled. “Can I get a medium hot chocolate?”
“Yeah, of course,” she smiled back. “Ryan?”
“Large double-double,” Ryan replied.
“Ryan, its 9pm,” Z giggled.
Ryan just shrugged. It was still summer vacation, he didn’t need to go to bed early. Z tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear as she went to press a few buttons on the cash register.
“$3.75” Z said. Ryan fished two twoonies out of his pocket and handed them to her.
“Keep the change,” he smiled. Z nodded and smiled back, putting the twoonies into the cash register and then the leftover quarter into the brown coffee cup with a sticky note, reading “Tips” with a little smiley face, stuck onto it.
Ryan’s eyes followed as Z went to the coffee machine in the back left corner, but suddenly, hands were on his face, being pulled into a kiss. Keltie’s lips were soft and gentle, and it didn’t take long for Ryan to register and kiss her back. His hands made their way to the back of her neck, and soon after, his tongue coaxed her mouth open. Keltie’s gigantic white scarf was sort of getting in the way of things, but Ryan didn’t mind too much.
Z let out a little cough, and the two broke apart immediately, Keltie’s cheeks turning as pink as the lipstick Ryan was wiping off of his face.
“Here you go,” she pushed the two beverages further forward on the counter for the two of them to take.
Keltie and Z started talking, Ryan was glad that Keltie didn’t mind him being so close with another girl. While the two girls laughed over the latest gossip, Ryan felt eyes on him. He craned his neck around to see Brendon reading the gigantic letters, ROOTS that were printed on the ass of Ryan’s sweats. Brendon quickly looked back down at his phone. Ryan didn’t think much of it.
As Ryan sipped on his coffee, he noticed a couple of his teammates emerging from the doors he had gone through prior. The game had ended. He didn’t bother asking any of his teammates if they had won the game, he already knew that they had. Besides, he wasn’t really that close with any of them.
“RyRo!” Tom exclaimed. “We won!” he held out his fist for Ryan to bump. Ryan humored him.
“No shit,” Ryan chuckled. “What was the final score?”
“12-2” Tom answered. “I scored one more, and Dan scored the other. Weekes got the second away goal.”
“Sick!” Ryan replied, before Tom went back to the group of their teammates that had already changed.
“Ryan, my mom just texted me, I gotta go home,” Keltie told him as she softly took his hand in hers.
“Okay,” Ryan responded. Keltie sighed and went on her toes to place a quick peck on Ryan’s lips. She didn’t look back as she walked away, the brown leather of her high heel boots clomping against the splotched silver and white floor tile. Her blonde hair flipped back against her tan knit sweater as she pushed the door open. Ryan wouldn’t miss her.
“When are you going to tell her?” Z asked.
“I dunno,” Ryan sighed.
“You’d better do it soon,” she informed him. “It’s not fair to her.”
“Shouldn’t you be working?” Ryan asked, noticing the line beginning to form.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. She turned her attention away from Ryan and onto the line as she smiled “What can I get for you today?”
Ryan walked a few paces away, then leaned against the white brick walls as he wondered when Spencer would be out. He knew that goalies took a long time to change, but god, he just wanted to go home now.
The arena was always busy after a game, and it made Ryan very uncomfortable. There were people everywhere. It was loud and buzzing, and hard to pick out individuals. He took another sip from his coffee as he closed his eyes and let his head lean back against cold, hard brick, in hopes the feeling might just relieve the headache he seemed to have just contracted.
“RyRo!” his eyes jolted open as he heard Spencer’s familiar voice.
“Hey Spence,” Ryan smiled. Spence held his arm out and the two engaged in a traditional bro-to-bro sidehug. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that Spencer absolutely reeked, although he was in no place to judge, as he probably did too.
“Thanks for the quality entertainment there, you and Urie always manage to get into shit like that every game,” Spencer laughed, sweaty locks of chocolate brown hair falling over his blue eyes.
Ryan just laughed with him, not bothering to inform him that the reason he fought with Brendon in the first place was because Brendon insulted Spencer.
“Hey Ross!” Ryan heard Urie yell. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to pick another fight.
“Not today, Urie,” Ryan grumbled under his breath.
Urie had left his bag sitting on the floor near his seat and had approached Ryan and Spencer near the snack bar.
“I was just gonna congratulate you on your hattrick! What’s that like, the first one in years?” Brendon prodded. Ryan had actually scored one at the finals last year, but he didn’t bother telling Brendon that.
“Back off,” he warned.
“Ha, fine. Oh, Smith, by the way, nice job only letting two goals in! That’s like, a new minimum for you!” Brendon insulted Spencer.
Ryan’s hands held his coffee so tightly that the lid popped off, some of the liquid pouring over the rim and onto his fingers. He felt rage boiling up inside of him as he went to pick it up. He didn’t care when Brendon insulted him; it was expected, but to go after Spencer? That was low, even for Urie.
Spencer must’ve noticed that Ryan was fuming, because he tugged on the black sleeve of Ryan’s Huskies jacket and said “C’mon Ryan, my mom’s pulling the car up.”
“Okay,” Ryan replied, throwing his bag back over his shoulder and following the soft rolling sound of Spencer’s tower hockey bag away from his antagonist and towards the exit doors of the arena.
“Listen, Ryan, it’s one thing to fight on the ice, but another off ice. I swear to god, if you start another fight,” Spencer lectured.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ryan responded. He’d already been given the speech countless times. “This is your future at stake, what OHL team is gonna want to take on someone with too many suspensions to count on two hands? Think about your future Ryan! You’ve been dreaming about this since Timbits!” Ryan mocked.
“Good to know you pay attention to what I say,” Spencer grumbled.
They stood in silence until Ryan caught a moonbeam in his eye reflecting off of Spencer’s mother’s silver mini-van. They walked closer to the doors, which made a whooshing sound as the two walked through them. The air was cold when they stepped outside the arena despite it being an August night, but then again, when wasn’t it cold in Canada? The parking lot was dimly lit, the night sky starless. Ryan and Spencer’s footsteps towards the trunk were the only sound besides the idling of the mini-van.
“How was the game, boys?” Spencer’s mom smiled as they placed their bags in the trunk.
“Fine,” Ryan answered softly.
Spencer began telling her every detail of the game as they closed the trunk and went into the back seats.
Ryan slumped down quietly, ignoring Spencer’s enthusiastic voice telling the tale of how their first exhibition game had resulted in an epic win. As the car began to drive away from the arena, Ryan couldn’t take his eyes away from the figures in the windows. That one, sitting on the ledge of the giant window by the door, in the red flannel shirt, was beginning to make Ryan’s home arena feel less and less like the place he wanted to be living