Beck slowly peeled the velcro straps and pulled his shoulder pads over his head his. Sweat from the pads dripped everywhere, and his black, wet, stringy hear hung in front of his face.

He let out a large exhale while he sat in the locker room stall at the Memphis arena. He was the only player in the locker room; he could hear the fans still reacting to the in-progress hockey game he had been kicked out from.

Flexing his right fist, he could feel the familiar pops of broken knuckles.

God damnit he thought to himself.

He was pretty sure this was it. It was the last game in a losing season and his ice time was whittled down to thirty seconds per game. Just enough time for him to find the other team’s jarhead and instigate a fight.

As the tough guy for Memphis’ minor league hockey team, the Bears, that was his job. And he embraced it wholeheartedly, the role he had held since he was a teenager in western Canada.

The crowd loved it, of course, but the writing was on the wall that he had simply no hockey value at all anymore to his team. In today’s professional hockey, even an enforcer needs to eat up some minutes for the star players to rest.

Beck sighed and he leaned forward to untie his skates. The team’s trainer popped his head around the corner.

“All good, Beck?” the trainer asked.

“Yeah, all good. How’s the other guy?”

“Prolly need stitches. Way to work.”

With that, the trainer’s head disappeared, and Beck was left alone once again.

Beck was going to miss this. Being a part of the team, playing in front of the fans and ultimately delighting them with a fight. Without the comradery and adrenaline that he felt for eight months per year, life might as well be over.

He would be nothing without hockey.

A lump welled up in his throat; a familiar lump that had been appearing the past couple of months since he realized his hockey career was coming to an end. With concerted effort, he focused on pulling off the rest of his hockey pads and it subsided.

A few moments later he was in the shower, which was stinging hot, just like he liked it. Hot enough to burn off every iota of the notorious ‘hockey smell’ girls at the bar would later complain about.

He quickly fumbled with the shower knob and headed back to the main room. Waiting for him around the corner in the locker room was a relatively young-looking man holding a towel.

Confused, Beck stopped and stood completely naked, dripping water in front of the man. The man smiled and tossed the towel over to him, which Beck accepted and used to dry off his face. Being seen naked in a locker room wasn’t odd enough to bother him, but who was this guy?

“Thanks,” said Beck with a gesture of the towel before turning and walking to his stall. “Who are you?”

“My name is Parker Meloche, and I’ve got an offer for you,” the man said.

“Offer for me?” asked Beck, still befuddled. By now he had wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down. His spread legs still gave a full view of his genitals to the man standing in front of him.

“Listen, bud,” Parker said. “I have season tickets here, and I know this roster inside and out… and I know you’re probably done after tonight.”

Beck’s brow furrowed; he didn’t like it when he was confronted with a harsh truth.

“Like I said, I’ve got an offer for you,” Parker continued. “You’ve probably seen the signs around town for ‘Golden Pro Wrestling’?”

Beck nodded and leaned back against the wall behind him.

“Well, we’d love to have you if you’re wrapping up your hockey career,” Parker said, smiling. “The fans here already know and love you, so why leave? We’ll give you a little bit of free training and set you loose in the ring.”

Beck hesitated. Despite knowing that hockey was wrapping up, he’d never come up with a solid plan for what he would do next.

“You know, that’s not a terrible idea,” he thought aloud.

“Not many of my ideas are terrible,” Parker quipped. “Listen dude, I’ll get out of here and let you hit the bars. In the meantime, I’ll prepare a one-season contract and you can give it some thought.”

Parker leaned out and extended his hand, which Beck accepted. A little bit of optimism was starting to hit Beck, which was a welcome relief from the dread he had been feeling lately.

The buzzer sounded for the end of the period and Parker left before Beck’s teammates started to file into the locker room. As his teammates gave Beck pats on his head and shoulders while they walked by, Beck’s mind was elsewhere.

Hockey may be over, but it didn’t mean his life was.