The last stretch plays out in a blur of forced movement and missed instincts, and when the final horn cuts through the arena it feels almost surreal in its finality, the scoreboard confirming what we already know before any of us even really look at it.
Vegas wins.
We lost.
The crowd surges into noise around us, but it all feels distant, muted under the pounding in my head, under the weight pressing into my chest.
Because the game doesn’t matter.
Not compared to where she is.
Not compared to the fact that Elijah is somewhere behind closed doors looking like he wants to tear the world apart with his bare hands.
As we skate off, I scan the ice automatically even though I already know he isn’t there.
“Elijah?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
Of course he’s gone.
The image comes back again, him on top of Vargas, the way he kept going, the way his face looked when he said my wife, and that same cold understanding settles deeper.
He meant it. Not just the word. The violence behind it. He would have killed him, and if we don’t get Lia back before this gets worse, I don’t know what Elijah is going to become when there’s nothing left holding him in.
“Where’d they take him?” I ask as we hit the tunnel.
Nobody answers right away. Everyone looks wrecked. Not just physically. Mentally. Something about the whole team feels shaken loose, like we all saw something out there none of us were meant to see.
When we push into the locker room, Coach is already waiting, tension carved into every line of his face.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Security’s holding him,” Coach says shortly. “He’s not coming back in here right now.”
My chest tightens.
“I need to talk to him.”
“No, you don’t,” Coach snaps. “You need to get changed. You’re up for media.”
For a second I think I’ve heard him wrong.
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can,” he says immediately, like this is obvious, like this is normal, like everything hasn’t gone to complete hell in the last twenty minutes. “You will.”
The words hit wrong. Too casual. Too disconnected from the reality pressing at the base of my throat.
Media.
Questions.
Cameras.
While Lia is gone. While Elijah is locked somewhere with security because he nearly beat a man to death on live ice.
I look over toward Zach and the sight of him does nothing to steady me. He’s still standing there in half his gear, staring at nothing, completely fucking gone. I cross to him and grab his arm hard enough to get his attention.
“Zach.”
