One minute you're at the top of your game, and the next, you receive a hit that knocks your skates out from underneath you.
Still reeling after an unexpected loss, Ryan Nyberg not only finds himself back in his beachside hometown of Neptune Bay, bu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Neptune Bay was a quaint, yet stunning, seaside town located along the coast of Maine. There were sandy beaches lined with colorful beach huts and a thriving marina, a wooden boardwalk that stretched nearly the length of the entire town, miles of trails that weaved their way through the surrounding forest, and a loving community who supported one another like a giant extended family.
The town was a treasure to not only the townspeople, but to thousands of tourists who flocked to its shores during the summer months in an effort to escape their own busy lives. It was where I'd grown up, and while I no longer called it home, there was always a piece of me that felt immediately at ease when I visited.
Except for today.
As I drove passed the welcome sign that boasted a proud population of 2,047, I was anything but relaxed. On edge, restless, nervous, grief-stricken—take your pick. I was all of those and more, mixed together in a melting pot of emotion. All because of one drunken idiot who'd not only blown my team's chances at a Stanley Cup with his ill-timed stupidity, but had gotten behind the wheel and, as a result, had ended his life as well as my brother Liam's and sister-in-law Thea's when he'd crashed into their car.
The news had been gut-wrenching to hear. Not only because my teammates had watched with bated breaths as I'd scrambled for my cell phone in my locker after the team publicist had spoken, but because the moment the line connected to my mother's cell, it wasn't her voice I heard, but my dad's. His words were strained as he explained, with several pauses in an attempt to keep a hold of his emotions, what had happened. And through it all, I could hear my mom's cries of anguish in the background as she fell apart.
My heart had cracked in that moment, and unable to go back onto the ice, let alone say a word to the men that surrounded me, the back-up goalie had been tasked with guarding the net in overtime.
And unsurprisingly, given the fact that the news had shaken my teammates, we'd lost. Barely two minutes had passed before the puck sailed into the top corner of our net, effectively ending the Knights' season.
At the demand of Coach, there'd been no press conference following the game despite the myriad of questions reporters and fans had. What had happened? Why was the team being so secretive? Where was Nyberg? But despite the pressure, no information was leaked to the general public about what had gone down in the locker room that night. They would get their answers—tonight, after the funeral, when the team released an official statement—but for now, nobody but those close to me knew the pain I was in.
Which was a small blessing, because while in Neptune's Bay I tended to wipe my phone clean of social media. Meaning for the rest of the summer there would be no Twitter threads or news articles about the devastating hand I'd been dealt for me to happen across while scrolling mindlessly. I would be tucked safely away from the nosy, yet good-intentioned, hockey fans of America and planned to spend all the time I could with the family I had left.
