Ginny and Bash rush me, and I can hardly believe my eyes when Ginny launches himself into the air, leaping into my arms. I catch him, just barely, and set him down on the ice as Bash throws his beefy arms around us, shouting, “That’s how you win games!”
When the final buzzer sounds, the score holds: 2-1, Gliders.
We celebrate on the ice, exhausted but victorious, and when we get back to the locker room, the mood remains electric despite the fact that we’re all exhausted.
Bash blasts his classic rock playlist through a wireless speaker, and McGinnis dances like a fool in the center of the room. I can’t help but laugh as he tries to get me to join him. “That’s a big hell no for me, Ginny.”
“Spoilsport!”
The celebration is just ramping up when Coach calls for our attention.
Bash kills the music, and the room falls silent.
Coach clears his throat. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
Every muscle in my body locks up, tension freezing me in place.
Davis.
How could I have forgotten? The instant the game was over, I should have remembered. Should have checked in with Coach.
Hell, I should have tried calling Davis myself. That’s what a good captain would’ve done.
“Ollie Davis was in a car accident early this evening,” Coach says, tone somber. “It was pretty bad.”
Fuck. I knew something was wrong. I should’ve listened to my gut.
And done what? What could you possibly have done to prevent this?
Checked in. Taken him out for a drink. Paid fucking attention to the fact that he was visibly struggling.
In short, I should’ve done something.
“Is he going to make it?” I ask, bracing for the answer.
Coach’s tired eyes meet mine, and a feeling of helplessness settles over me. My skin suddenly feels too tight, my uniform too restrictive. It’s like I can’t fucking breathe, but I know it’s all in my head, a physical manifestation of grief and anger.
“I don’t know.” Coach scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t have a lot of details, but he’s at Grady. I’m going to head over there as soon as I wrap up here. Anyone who’d like to join me is welcome.”
I’ve been down this road before, and it’s one I’d hoped to never travel again, but I can’t bail on Davis, no matter how much it hurts or what old memories it dredges up.
I need to shower. Message Ava. Get my ass over to Grady.
Because that’s what a good captain—a good teammate—would do, and I’m not going to screw this up again.
31
AVA
The elevator doorsslide open with a quiet hiss, and I’m greeted by the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital’s fourteenth-floor trauma center. The scent of industrial cleaner hangs in the air. I try not to think too hard about what it’s masking. It’s late, and the ward is quiet as I move silently down the hall, following the signs for the waiting room.
My stomach is tangled in knots and has been since Knox’s text came through.
I was in my car, about to back out of my parking spot at the arena, when my phone buzzed. Knox’s name flashed on the screen, and an effervescent fizz filled my chest. I thought he was messaging to ask if he could come over later.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Knox: Davis was in an accident. It’s bad. We’re all heading over to Grady Memorial.
