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The game started, and the crowd went wild as Aiden won the puck, sending it sliding across the ice to Noah down the right wing. The Bulldogs had some real powerhouse players that checked Noah with such force he went careening into the boards.
“Crap,” Rory hissed, clutching my hand.
“It’s okay, Lakers,” Dayna yelled, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Win it back. Let’s go.”
A blur of cyan and indigo raced down the defensive zone, trying to block the Bulldog’s breakout.
“Go, go,” I murmured, watching Connor move to check their attacker. But a Bulldog player came out of nowhere, slamming into him and knocking him backward.
“Oh God,” Ella gasped as the rest of the crowd took a collective inhale as Connor went down like a sack of bricks.
“He’s okay,” Dayna reassured her, “he’ll be fine.”
But he didn’t look fine. He didn’t clamber back to his feet and skate it off. He just lay there.
The linesman noticed and signaled to cease play, and the referee rushed over to Connor. Noah was already there, crouched down over his friend.
“Please be okay. God, please be okay.” Ella gnawed her thumb as she watched the scene play out. But thankfully, just when it looked like Connor was out for the count, he thumped a glove down on the ice and pulled himself into a sitting position. The crowd cheered wildly for their beloved number twenty-three, the sound reverberating through me.
“See, he’s fine.” Dayna hugged Ella, the two of them cheering loudly.
He got to his feet and nodded at something the referee said, before skating right up to the plexiglass glass in front of us and pressing his hand against it. Ella laid her hand there, smiling so hard I felt the ache in my own cheeks.
“Fucking love you, kitten,” he mouthed.
“Love you too,” she replied. “Please don’t do that again.”
He chuckled before tapping his stick on the glass and skating back to the Lakers bench to be assessed by the medic.
“This game will be the death of me,” she murmured.
“Yep. I have a real love-and-hate relationship with it,” Rory said, glancing at me. The pity in her eyes making me glance away.
I didn’t want to go there.
Not now.
Not here.
So although I stayed quiet, pretending not to hear their conversation over the noise of the crowd, I knew exactly how they felt.
Because hockey to me would always be the thing that brought me endless joy.
And desperate, utter heartache.
CHAPTER19
MASON
In the finalminutes of the third period, the score was tied—three to three. After the scare with Connor, the Bulldogs had turned up the heat. Every time our offense went for the breakout, they managed to gain possession. It was a dogfight. Back and forth, back and forth.
There wasn’t a single muscle in my body that didn’t ping and burn with exertion.
“Take the shot,” Coach Dixon bellowed as I looked across the attacking zone for a Lakers jersey. But their defense had Noah and Aiden pinned down.
“Take the goddamn shot,” someone yelled.
I couldn’t be sure this time if it was Coach D or Coach Tucker. Blood roared between my ears, the ice steady beneath my skates as I rotated my body slightly, leaned my weight forward, pulled back my stick, and took the shot. Just like I’d practiced over and over this week with Coach Dixon.
