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Chapter Twenty-Six
Penelope
Sitting in the stands gives a whole different feel to the game. It’s been a while since I sat this close to the action.
There’s not a single open seat in the entire stadium. We’re into the second period, and with the scores tied and this being a winner-takes-all game, I’m doing everything I can not to bite my fingernails or cover my eyes when the opposing team tries to make a shot.
It's also been an aggressive game, with more hits and dirty tricks on the ice. Everyone is pulling out anything they can to gain the advantage, and this is far from a clean game.
I can’t keep my eye off Slade, and I watch him skate from one end to the other, shifting out with his alternates and playing his ass off every time he’s on the ice.
One player on the opposing team seems to be giving him as much trouble as he can. Maybe it’s just because I’m sensitive to number 67, Matthews, on the ice, but I swear that the player on the other team is gunning for Slade more than anyone else.
We’re at the end of the second period, and Lake gets the puck. He heads down towards the goalie, but he’s getting a lot of heat on him as the opposition is closing in.
Lake sends the puck to Briggs, but Briggs can’t make the shot.
Slade gets himself mostly clear, lining up to be in perfect position, and Briggs waits for the ideal moment, trying to shake off the players on his ass.
He shoots the puck to Slade, and just as Slade’s about to take the shot, the opposing player, who’s been out to get him, comes out of nowhere and clotheslines Slade, knocking him flat on his back.
I watch Slade's helmet smack against the ice. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably at the sound of plastic and ice colliding, echoing through the stadium.
A resounding groan from the crowd breaks out around me as everyone witnesses Slade hit the ground.
The referee blows the whistle immediately. He saw it happen.
It’s a bad hit, and you know it when everyone in the stadium stands up and boos at the offending player.
It only takes me half a second to realize that Slade isn’t moving on the ice.
The moment I see Seven leave his goalpost and sprint for Slade, with Lake doing the same from close by, I know this isn’t a normal hit.
“Slade!” I yell out of instinct, but I know he can’t hear me.
I immediately start pushing past people on my left, trying to get past the five seats between me and the railing of the player’s tunnel.
“Is he going to be ok?” Toby yells after me.
“No,” I yell back as I climb over the railing and jump five feet down into the access point for the rink.
I don’t look back at security as I race out to the rink's opening and step out on the ice. I know how to walk on ice, and I get out to Slade in record time.
Seven is already down by Slade’s head, trying to get Slade to answer, with Lake and Briggs there too. The other Hawkeyes players surround Slade to protect him from spectator view and protect him from the opposition or fans throwing things onto the rink. You never know in a high intensity game what can happen.
I slide down onto my knees, to the right side of Slade's head, with Seven on the left and Lake near his hip.
“Slade, can you hear me?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” the ref warns.
A few seconds later, we hear a moan coming from Slade.
“Then you’ll have to physically remove me yourself,” I say,
The in-house doctor comes around to Slade's head next to me and leans over, scanning Slade's body quickly for visible injury.
"She's with the team," Seven tells him.
