Page 131 of Breakaway Hearts

“Take the win.” Theo winks at me and heads off, so I text Tab to see if she can save me a seat.

The crowd is electrified by the time I step into the arena. Like all home games, the stands are a sea of teal. I don’t have a jersey on me, but Owen’s sweatshirt is currently in my backpack and will most likely make its way onto me before the game is over.

Looks like we’re tied 2-2.

I spot Tab and wave, so she motions to the empty seat beside her and gives me a thumbs up. I head for the stairs, but my eyes are on the ice. I can’t see Jason’s face, but his body looks tense, probably upset he let another goal in, so I’d bet anything they won’t get a third.

I scan the back of jerseys for Brooks, though I usually recognize Owen from his skating style and height before I get a clear view of his jersey.

I’m about to give up and assume he’s on the bench when one of the opposing players gets shoved into the glass in front of me. I shake my head as Colt spots me and winks before skating after the puck. It isn’t until the player he hit skates after him that I can read the ‘Preston-Hill’ on his jersey and my blood runs cold. Frederic Preston-Hill was in the room that night. Watching.

The roar of the crowd fades out until all I hear is my heart, pounding like it’s trying to free itself from my ribcage.

I need to move, to get to my seat, or out of the arena, but my legs are glued to the floor, like my body forgot how to move. I try to catch a breath, but there’s too much air, or too little, and the fear is creeping into my chest. All I can smell is orange drink and rum as my vision goes dark.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Owen

Breathe for me

Coach is pissed, and for the first time since Jason joined, Spring has his game face on, like he might actually have to play. It isn’t even that Gravy let in two shots. Or that they were easy ones he should have blocked. It’s that he didn’t move when the first one came, and the second one slid all the way from the offensive zone, slow as molasses, but he wasn’t looking the entire fucking minute it took to reach him. It might have been seconds, but it felt like forever watching it happen.

I’m so concentrated on trying to read Gravy that I almost don’t see Mads walk in. It’s a good thing I’m on the bench and everyone is watching the game because I can’t stop the smile that breaks out on my face the second I spot her scouring the ice for me, how my entire body fucking relaxes at the sight of her.

“Yes!” Miles says to himself when Colt bashes the opposition’s left winger into the boards, but when they skate off and I can see Mads again, she looks fucking pale, like she’s going to puke or pass out, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this afraid in my life.

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” I tell Coach, then rush down the tunnel without waiting for his answer. Pretty sure I hear Danny complaining, but I tune everything out and run to where I last saw Mads. If I’d taken the time to explain, Coach would have reassured me she’d be fine, sent the medic, then let me go if it was serious. I know this. And I know he’ll lose his shit when he sees where I’m going, especially if I get there and Madison’s sitting with Tab in the stands, looking at me like I’m insane. I know this, yet I fucking hope that’s what happens, because I can still feel her fear constricting my chest.

“I can’t—” Mads says when I get to her. She’s moved closer to the wall near the exit, but it looks more like she needed the support to stay upright than anything else. Like she fell onto it. “I can’t—breathe.”

She’s gulping at air so quickly that none of it is reaching her lungs.

“It’s okay baby, I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

She takes a big inhale, but it does absolutely nothing.

“What can you see?” I ask.

She looks at me like I’m insane, but the terror in her eyes is still there, so I don’t feel better.

“Come on, Madison, tell me five things you can see.”

“You.” She gasps. “Your eyes. Your jersey. Helmet…bruise,” she says like she’s just noticing it. I’d forgotten about the high stick from earlier, but good to know it’s already marring my face.

I think the five things are supposed to be less centralized, but I’ll take it. I should have paid more fucking attention to Rachel’s seminars beyond cheering really loudly as often as I could.

“That’s it, Maddie, you’re doing great,” I tell her. “What can you hear? Tell me four things.”

“Your voice. My heart. That fucking whistle. Laughing.”

I don’t hear any laughter, but it seems to really bother her, so I bring her slightly closer to the exit, away from whatever she’s interpreting as laughs, then I take her hands and bring them to my chest, putting mine over her heart. Hopefully it’ll help her regulate, like when babies can’t figure out breathing.

“What can you feel?”

“Your sweat.” I think she’s trying to make a joke, which is a good sign, but she’s still breathing too fast to not hyperventilate. “Cold.” She closes her eyes. “Velcro.” Her hands are wandering under my jersey like they’re searching for a lifeline, and I’d take it all off right here if it helped.

“What can you smell? Two more things.” I emulate breathing like this is a Lamaze class.