Page 24 of These Wicked Hearts

I’m a half second too slow as Layton slams into me, knocking me into the boards. The impact rattles my spine as I skid across the ice, and I lie flat, trying to catch my breath.

“Fuck, Atlas!” someone snaps.

I roll to my stomach and push myself up. My blades dig into the ice as I get back on my feet. “Where the fuck is your head at?!” Knox barks, circling back to me. His voice cuts through everything, and if my head wasn’t swimming from the impact, I might find it in myself to be embarrassed.

I grab my stick, adjusting myself. “I’m fine. Sorry, I just⁠—”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I glare at him and don’t respond.

The puck is already moving again. I pivot, pushing off hard and trying to catch up. My legs burn as we work through the play. My skates bite into the ice as I cut across our zone and open to allow my teammates a pass.

I exhale hard, skating harder, trying to shake off whatever’s wrong with me. Just focus. How hard is it? It’s never been this hard before. Focus. My mind just won’t.

Every stride pulls at my muscles. I shouldn’t be this sore either. My thighs burn. My core tightens when I twist. A dull ache settles in my back, enough to slow me down. I hit the ice hard, but I’ve been hit harder.

“Reset!” Coach’s voice booms through the arena. “Clean this shit up,” he barks.

Knox gives me a look as he passes me to line up.

I get ready, stick in hand. I try to loosen up and focus but my head is still somewhere else.

The whistle blows. Knox and Damien fight for control. Knox slaps it to me and I take possession, taking off faster this time, with more force, pushing through the fog. I look around and see Layton coming right at me. I slap to Rome and collide again with Layton.

“Fuck!” I snap. A whistle slices through the arena.

“Atlas!” Coach barks. Goddammit. “Bench, now!”

I coast over, chest tight, frustration buzzing under my skin. I hold my stick under my arm and take off my gloves, watching Casey Fabro skate to me in his goalie pads. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” I say automatically.

I can tell he doesn’t buy it, but thankfully he leaves me alone. I grab a towel and wipe my face, trying to shake this feeling.

“Just a little off.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He huffs.

“My head’s just not in it,” I admit.

Casey nudges my shin pad with his stick. “Then get it in. Knox is two seconds from losing his mind.” I glance up and watch Knox at center ice, jaw tight. I catch his eye for half a second before he looks away.

Yeah, I’m dead.

I see someone skate toward me and stiffen. “You hurt?” Rome asks.

“Fuck off.” I grab my water and squirt some into my mouth.

I don’t even know why he’s talking to me. Rome Acciari is the biggest dickhead in the league. He also ended my best friend’s career last season. So he can kindly go fuck off anywhere away from me.

His eyes narrow slightly. “We don’t need perfect,” he says softly. “We just need present.” Then he skates away.

“Fuck him.”

Casey shakes his head before skating back to his crease, and I watch them for a moment, trying to figure out whatever the fuck is wrong with me.

“Atlas.” Coach Grady skates over to me. “Can you do me a favor?” he says calmly.