Page 80 of Hockey Nanny

Mine.

Again.

Boone shoved my shoulder as we skated past each other. “You’re being an asshole.”

“Get better,” I said, breath burning.

We moved into power-play simulations, even though it was just us. I quarterbacked from the point, barking orders, forcing crisp passes through imaginary lanes. When Gage missed the seam, I made him skate it again. When Boone took a shot from too far out, I waved it off and reset the drill.

The angrier I got, the tighter everything became. Shorter windows. Less forgiveness. I pushed the tempo until my legs started to shake on stops.

Boone bent over at the waist after one rep, hands on his knees. “Okay,” he said. “Time.”

“No,” I replied, already grabbing another puck.

Gage skated closer, voice lower. “Dawson. You’re not proving anything.”

I snapped a pass at his stick harder than necessary. “Run the drill.”

We switched to sprints. Blue line to blue line. Then goal line to far blue. Then suicides. I didn’t stop when they did. I kept going, teeth clenched, vision narrowing.

Pain was simple. Pain followed rules.

My lungs burned. My legs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand. Somewhere in the back of my head, a part of me knew this was stupid. That I was emptying the tank when we needed it full.

I didn’t care.

Boone caught me on the boards as I turned. He reached out, grabbing my arm through my jersey.

“That’s enough.”

I yanked free. “Get off me.”

He didn’t back down. “You’re punishing all of us.”

I skated away, circled back, grabbed another puck. My hands were shaking now. I welcomed it.

Boone followed me to center ice. “You think this fixes it?”

“Fixes what?” I snapped.

He stopped dead in front of me, forcing me to stop too. His face was flushed, eyes hard. “Her. This. You.”

I felt it then. The crack in the armor. The way my chest threatened to cave in if I let him keep talking.

“Get out of my way,” I said.

“No.” Boone planted himself. “Stop punishing all of us, including Carissa, for shit you can’t handle.”

Gage hovered a few feet away, silent but watchful.

Boone went on, voice steady now. “If you’d just talk to us, you might realize it’s not as bad as you think. None of this is.”

I laughed, short and ugly. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” Boone shot back.

The image of Carissa again. Her standing in my bedroom. The way I’d chosen the game because it was easier than staying. The way Henry had looked at me like I’d already left.