I did it, not fast, but deliberately, one…two…three…four…five…six…seven, taking aim at the net. Six out of seven went in.
“Next, stop watching the puck. Watch the play instead. Watch what’s happening and get yourself open for somebody to get the puck to you.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at that one. Another thing I thought I’d proven was my hockey smarts. I knew how to read the play. But I didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“You should have no problem with that,” Danny added. “You’ve got good hockey sense. But what happens is when you’re feeling the pressure of not scoring, you change the way you play without even realizing it. So make a conscious effort to relax, stop watching the puck, and focus on reading the play.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. Maybe he was right.
“And here’s the mental part of it. Don’t think about a black dog.”
“What?” I frowned at him.
“Don’t think about a black dog. Absolutely block a black dog from your mind.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Okay, yeah, I get it. The more I tell myself not to think about it, the more I will.”
“Right. So don’t think about not scoring. Reframe your negative thoughts. Now…remember these things even in practice. Every shot you take on net during practice, play the puck until it’s in the net or the goalie freezes it. Go after the rebounds. Do whatever it takes to get the puck in the net, even when it’s a practice. And when you do it, you scored—tell yourself that.”
We talked more about these things until a couple of the guys jumped onto the ice and Coach was at the bench getting ready for our practice.
I was ready.
* * *
—
I worked hard during practice. I barely even noticed my wrist, so that was good.
Marc Dupuis, our team captain, talked to me as we were leaving the ice. “Good practice, Chaser.”
“Thanks.”
“I know you’re frustrated about not scoring.”
I swallowed a sigh. Apparently everyone knew I was frustrated.
“Just remember…it doesn’t have to affect your confidence. Even if you’re not scoring or contributing offensively as much as you’d like, you can’t let it get you down. There are lots of other things you can do to help your team. And you do. You have a big presence on the ice, in the room. Lots of other contributions.”
“Thanks, man.”
He tapped me with his stick and strode ahead of me to the dressing room.
In the room, Tony flagged me down right away. Apparently Coach had talked to him. I swallowed a sigh as he led me into the training room with tables set up for physical and athletic therapy. Brick was stretched out on one table where Cal, another trainer, was working on his shoulder.
“Hop up.” Tony patted a table.
I gritted my teeth and sat.
“Right wrist?” Tony reached for my arm and put it through a series of motions, flexing and extending it, rotating it, feeling around. “Nothin’?”
“Nope. Just when I move certain ways. It actually feels fine today.”
“Okay. First thing we’ll do is get an X-ray.”
I nodded. Fine. I’d go for an X-ray.
On Thursday afternoon, Hartman sat in his stall in the Aces dressing room, answering questions about his lack of offensive production. “I can’t score right now,” Hartman said. “I’m working on some things, back to basics, trying to play a simple game. I know at some point, they’re going to go in again.”
The twenty-five-year-old is clearly frustrated and down on himself, but answered questions with stoic composure.
—Chicago Press
* * *
—
I didn’t know why, but that night I went on Twitter and brought up Jordyn’s profile. She was tweeting about the game between the Condors and the Stars. That made me smile.
I tweeted at her, Stars will win.
No! Her reply came swiftly.
I settled into my couch and found the game on TV. Sure enough, Stars were leading three–one.
Stars have defense problems, she messaged me. Our top line is hot!
Their top-scoring center blasted one past the Stars’ goalie.
She tweeted at me Go Condors!
I laughed out loud. Then I changed the subject. Great article about you in Panache.
I cringed, wondering if I should admit in public that I’d just read a women’s magazine.
Thank you! It was fun.
And sexy cover.
Yeah, I was going there. I was flirting.
I smiled. Then the Stars scored. I tapped in my tweet. Uh-oh…
It’s okay! Still lots of time! #GoCondors!
I held on to my phone as I watched the game. Jordyn’s next tweet came moments later. Are you kidding me? That was so not goalie interference! #GoCondors
I nodded my head, making a face. Have to agree with you there, song girl.
Condors took a penalty for that bad call and sure enough, the Stars scored on the power play.
Jordyn’s next tweet had another laugh bursting from my chest. Hey ref, does your boyfriend know you’re screwing us? #GoCondors
She was passionate about her team. I liked that. You tell ’em.
Who are you cheering for?
I’m Switzerland in this game.
Huh. Okay.
I didn’t really want the Stars to win because they were in our division and two points can be the difference when it comes to making the playoffs. But I couldn’t cheer for the Condors either since they beat us last year in the playoffs. That still burned.
But the next time the Condors play the Leafs…watch out.
Leafs???? You’re a Leafs fan??? OMG
I grinned. Go Leafs go.
What do you call 23 millionaires sitting around a TV watching the Stanley Cup Finals?
My face scrunched up at her question. Before I could answer anything, she tweeted again. The Toronto Maple Leafs.
I cracked up. It didn’t bug me, because even though I grew up a die-hard Leafs fan, I had a sense of humor about it—and anyway they weren’t my favorite team anymore because the Aces were.
Good one.
The Condors scored again, but ended up losing. I was a good sport so I didn’t tweet anything about correctly predicting the outcome of the game. Nobody likes a poor winner.
Jordyn tweeted one more time. Good game, boys #GoCondors
I replied to her. Yeah, good game. Thanks for entertaining me.
I felt a weird fizzy sensation in my gut. It wasn’t unpleasant. And I couldn’t stop smiling.
Chapter 4
Jordyn
LOS ANGELES
NOVEMBER
“Congratulations, Jordyn!”
“Thank you!” I smiled at the record producer. Then I accepted hugs from Gigi Hadid and Taylor Swift.
Oh my God!
What a night!
I was at an after-party hosted by Justin Bieber, following the American Music Awards. The swanky lounge in West Hollywood was full of big stars and music industry VIPS, all drinking champagne, laughing and talking, and dancing. It was an amazing feeling, floating around in my beautiful gold sequined dress, accepting congratulations from everyone—fellow musicians, songwriters, producers, and agents. All the hard work over the last few years was worth this night—I was a winner!
There was one person not congratulating me and that was Polly Martinez, who’d been nominated for the same award. You know when everyone says it’s an honor to be nominated, and then smiles and claps when the other person wins? It’s bullshit. If I hadn’t won, I would have been so disappointed. Crushed. Of course, I would have put on an act and I would have congratulated the winner. But Polly doesn’t bother pretending she’s not pissed about this.
That was okay. I could avoid her at this party. I had lots of friends in the business and she wasn’t one of them.
I smiled at my manager, Aaron Garland, and my date for the night, Malik, and drank more champagne.