“Don’t play dumb, Ruin. What’s gotten into you?” His voice remains stern. Giving into the tone, I sulk all the way into the room flopping onto the chair facing him.

“Just not on it today I guess,” I reply limply. It’s a shitty excuse but it is worth a try. This is the last game of our season, so I know he’ll give me no grace.

Some would think that because this game doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of the NHL he would let it go, but that is not Coach Mitch’s style. He wants to win, go out on a bang, show the other teams that we are a solid team that just had bad luck this go around.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness.” He is trying to get under my skin. Rile me up. “I didn’t realise players got a pass because they don’t want to do their job properly.”

“Coach, look…” I can smooth this over. Say I have a pulled muscle or some other bullshit he might buy.

Coach’s demeanour softens by only a short margin before he continues, “I know son, being here when you want to be there hurts. I know that first-hand, but you can’t let everyone else down because of it.”

My excuses weren’t working, so I give in to his way. “What do I do?” I ask.

Coach leans forward on his desk, hands clasped together. “Your job. You get on the ice and into the zone and play your ass off until we win, and then you get to go home and be with your family.” He makes it sound so simple. But getting in the zone is hard when every time I focus my mind goes back to the moment I felt that kick on my hand and it knocks me out of it all over again.

“I just wish they were here,” I tell him truthfully, my voice a whisper.

I notice Coach’s eyebrows are less of a frown, and his face is awash with sympathy. “I’m sorry, son. But there’s nothing we can do about that.” At least he genuinely looks like he feels bad for me, Coach Mitch isn’t the type of man to blow up my ego just for the sake of it. “What we can do is win so you go home to a celebration. Look, this is the last game of the season and then you have months to love on your girl, just get through tonight,” he urges.

“Sorry, Coach.” I know he is right, each minute the puck drop gets closer.

Coach leans back in his chair again before bellowing, “Let’s go play some hockey!”

All I can think about is skating onto the ice and seeing everyone’s families smiling at them except mine. The only other person in my boat is Edge, but that’s because he doesn’t talk to his family much any more. Not since his dad died anyway.