Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Let’s pivot… what does a typical day look like now?” Juno asks. “Take me inside the day of a professional hockey goalie.”
I exhale through my nose, a short breath that’s half amusement, half resignation. “I’m a guy who thrives on structure, so I operate on a schedule. I set deadlines and goals for myself because otherwise, I’ll procrastinate.” Juno tilts her head, encouraging but not pushing. “I’m usually up before the sun and I’ll go for a run on non-game days. After that, it’s breakfast. My body works better when it’s fueled.”
I take her through days we have practice versus days we’re off and how vastly different they look. With a short prompt from her, she has me contrasting that to game days and travel, effortlessly pulling out of me a rich accounting that if I tried to convey on my own would’ve sounded completely uninspiring.
“I’ve noticed you guys spend a lot of time at the performance center working out. That facility is incredible. How essential is that component?”
I shift forward, resting my forearms on my knees without realizing it, like talking about routine pulls me into it physically. “Patrick Rowe built what will now become the standard for training facilities. There’s not a single detail he overlooked and honestly, it feels a little like we’re being pampered. But you’re never going to hear me complain, and I’ll spend as much time there as I would anywhere else. Obviously, strength and stamina are key to my job and add on flexibility for goalie work. Everything centers around not how good you look in a mirror but rather how well you function in the game.”
Juno scribbles a note, then looks back up. “So, no vanity lifts?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Goalies don’t get to be vain for long. The ice humbles you pretty fast.” That earns me a smile. “Recovery is like a religion. Sleep. Nutrition. Stretching. Cold tubs I hate but still do. Repetition until it’s boring. Then repetition some more.”
“Sounds lonely,” she says, not unkindly.
I consider that but I’ve never labeled it that way. “Not lonely,” I say. “Definitely grounding. When everything else gets loud—fans, media, expectations—routine is the one thing that stays honest.”
I catch the way she’s watching me now. As if she’s slipped out of interview mode and is present in this space with simple understanding. “And when you’re not training?” she asks, checking her notebook. “What does Crosby Hale do to entertain himself?”
I shrug, because so much of my life is centered around my job. “I keep it quiet. Cook. Read. Try not to wreck my sleep schedule.” A beat. “I like knowing what to expect from tomorrow.”
I don’t say why—but she seems to hear it anyway.
Juno nods, pen pausing. “Control.”
“Yeah… I like control. I don’t like leaving things to chance.”
“You don’t sound bored,” she says.
“I’m not,” I reply. “I’d be lost without it.” That’s probably more honest than I intended.
She asks about pressure next—about being a starter, about expectations, about what it’s like to carry a team’s confidence on your shoulders. I explain it the only way I know how. “Pressure is noise to me. Routine is the opposite of that, so it’s silence.”
She pauses to make notes, pen moving fast. “What about the spotlight?” she asks. “How do you navigate that?”
I hesitate because I hate the fucking spotlight and she knows it. But can I say that? Is she angling for me to talk about Cherry? She didn’t come right out with it, but Juno’s discovered that’s my Achilles’ heel, so to speak.
Birdie shifts on the couch, already sensing where this might go.
“I don’t navigate the spotlight,” I finally say. “I avoid it.”
“Why?”
I meet Juno’s eyes. They’re steady but more so, patient, waiting to see which way I’ll go.
“Because attention changes things,” I say. “People. Relationships. It turns moments into commodities. I like my life small.”
I hope Juno took from that what I intended. I don’t intend to expand on that.
To my relief, she pivots again. “What do you do when the season ends?”
That’s an easy one and I lean back in my chair. “Obviously, I have to keep up on conditioning, but I try to stay away from the ice completely. I focus on relaxation as much as possible and I travel.”
Juno waits but I can see the question in her gaze. Where do you go? What do you like to do?
“I go every year out to Wyoming. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Do a lot of hiking and fly-fishing. Rent a place in the middle of nowhere, spotty cell service and no agenda.” My body relaxes, imagining myself knee-deep in cold rushing water, angling for that perfect moment a trout breaks the surface to take the fly I’ve offered. “I’ll spend weeks there. Mornings on the river, standing still long enough that the world forgets you exist.” Juno’s pen slows and her head lifts, eyes locked on me. I glance down at my hands, flex my fingers. “Out there, I’m not a goalie. Not a name. I’m merely a guy trying not to spook the trout.”