Page 138 of Keeping Score

Brody

If for some reason, anyone would ever care enough to write a biography about me in the distant future, I knew that I was currently living through one of the most significant chapters.

It would go something like this.

In Callahan’s tenth year of his career, he was dealt some devastating blows. Not only did he lose the love of his life (a feat which we can see he never truly recovered from) but he lost the love of the game along with it. Around this time, things began to happen quickly, faster than the simple-minded Callahan could keep score of. His game deteriorated, his reputation as one of the NHL’s best defenders was in jeopardy, and he was on the verge of running home crying to his childhood home in defeat. A tragic fall from grace for the former golden boy of the NHL who naively believed he almost had it all.

A real page turner, huh?

Pathetic.

Even though I went out onto that ice and tried like hell to give it my all, I fell short. By a long shot.

The thing was, I’d never been very good at deception. It wasn’t in my nature. And it shook me to my core to be out there on the ice with my team and act as if my heart was entirely in something that I’d already mentally checked out of.

How could I care about a game when the entire trajectory of my life was changing course around me? I didn’t. Apparently, I couldn’t even pretend to.

“It’s okay, man,” One of my teammates said afterwards in the locker room, “we all have bad nights.”

“Bad nights?” Another one called out. “Callahan didn’t block a single fucking puck all night. Talk about a waste of a game.”

“Hey,” Liam boomed, “lay off. You’ve played like shit more than a few times during your career and we’ve never given you slack for it.”

“No.” I told Liam. “He’s right. It’s my fault.”

“No,” Liam countered. “He’s not. We’re a team, and we won’t be getting anywhere if we start degrading each other over mistakes we’ve already made.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I gritted out. “I know I fucked up.”

I fucked up with Maggie. I fucked up with the team. I fucked up my head by not knowing what the hell I was doing with my life anymore.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling utterly exhausted right down to the bone. Everything felt too much. Everything felt out of reach. I couldn’t make sense of this bizarre reality I found myself in. One where I played like shit, let everyone down, and didn’t have Maggie by my side.

“Fucking damn it,” I groaned, throwing my helmet to the floor and sinking down against the lockers.

Nobody said a word as it fell with a thud against the floor, echoing the sound of my misery for all to hear.

I couldn’t pretend anymore that I was keeping it together, because the truth was: I wasn’t. I forgot what keeping it together even looked like at this point.

“Hey,” one of my teammates said, rare tone of concern in his voice. “Callahan. It’s okay.”

“Yeah, man. Nicholson was just being a dick. Nobody blames you for tonight.”

“You should.” I said. “You all should. I have one fucking job and it’s to protect the net. And I couldn’t fucking do that right.”

“Woah, man.” One of the guy’s laughed uneasily. “Easy there. You’re starting to sound like Cap. All bitter and cynical like.”

“Yeah, Callahan. That’s not you. You’re like our… golden retriever hype man. You can’t go getting all pissy like the rest of us. You’re the one who keeps us all going with your annoyingly optimistic bullshit.”

I snorted.

“Yeah.” I agreed. “What a joke.”

“What about you?” I looked up almost confrontationally at Liam who was staring at me from across the locker room. “No pep talk telling me to get my act together and be the ‘old Brody’ again?”

“Nah, man.” Liam shook his head. “I’m not holding you to any bullshit standards. You’re allowed to feel whatever the hell you feel. Contrary to what you may believe—it’s not your job to keep everyone happy all the time.”

And whatever I’d been expecting from him, I realized that nothing else he could’ve said would’ve made me feel better than that.