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I shrugged. “Wy’s okay. He’ll make the right calls on the ice.”
Coach nodded, and I sighed as the ref went out onto the ice. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I swayed. The game had started, and the clash around the puck was brutal. I held my breath until Wy came tearing out the other side with the puck sliding in front of him, skating like a bat out of hell. The Hammers must not have been expecting his speed. I started to feel a little better as he skated to the net and easily slid the puck past their goalie, avoiding the other team with speed, grace, and a wide shit-eating grin.
Any other day I would be jealous, but tonight I was just happy. “Good job!” I yelled.
Coach gave me some side-eye, but he was too busy smiling to give me bullshit about the change in attitude.
One of Dad’s obnoxious whistles blasted off from nearby. Since I wasn’t in the game and my only job was to cheer everyone on, I joined in enthusiastically, smacking Coach’s shoulder.
“This is actually fun!” I said, feeling as shocked as I sounded.
Coach gave me a strange look, then smirked and went back to staring at the ice.
The first ten minutes went fast, with both sides driving the puck back and forth as quickly as they could. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees with a sigh because it immediately became clear to me that blocking Wy was part of their strategy. No matter where he went, the asshole Hammer wearing 65 stuck with him like glue. I wanted to smash his face in.
Fuck, if I was on the ice, I would’ve found a way to do it by now.
Wy broke around the dickhead—because he was just that fucking fast—and the Hammer chased him. Next thing I knew, Wy had crashed to the ice, and I wasn’t sure what had happened. Everything was difficult to see from the bench. Wy had been skating as hard as he could toward the play near our goal. I wanted to say that the Hammer he’d skated past, number 15, had used his stick to trip Wy.
“Fuck,” I snarled.
Wy slammed a fist to the ice and started to get up, but the guy coming in behind him had been going nearly as fast as he’d been, and number 65’s skate caught on Wy’s leg as he fell.
Wy’s hands went up in the air and he writhed in pain.
The crowd booed loudly.
I shot to my feet while my heart tried to pound out of my chest. My hands shook and I squeezed them into fists. Wy rolled to the side and grasped his right knee, and my throat almost closed off. For a second, I was sure the steroids had stopped working and I was dying all over again. That wasn’t something you ever wanted to see someone doing on the ice. Coach Hill swore and shot to his feet, yelling and pointing at Wy, and the ref noticed what Coach was trying to get him to see and stopped the game.
The medical team headed out onto the ice because Wy wasn’t getting up.
I tried to shoot in that direction, but Coach put a hand out to stop me. “You look like hell. Sit!” he ordered before going out. Everyone circled around Wy, even the players from the other team.
When the medical crew got Wy up onto his good leg and helped him get off the ice, my first impulse was to go to him, but Coach reached out and grabbed my shoulder before I could step foot on the ice. “Stay here. Keep your eyes open for me,” he said, and his tone was stone cold. “I need your attention here, especially since Wystan probably won’t be back for a while.”
“Yes, Coach,” I said, plopping back down. I felt like throwing up.
I hated everything about this. Without Wy, the Hammers were all over us, and no matter what plays we tried to use, they fucked them all up. I didn’t know if they were just that good or if they’d studied us really well, but they were ahead of us by two points when the final buzzer sounded. I was deeply fucking regretting not having been in uniform tonight.
This was my fault.
I’d also left my fucking water bottle at home. I slammed my fist on my thigh.
This was all my fucking fault.
Sighing, I scrubbed my hands over my face.
After the game, I followed everyone, including Coach Hill, into the locker room.
“Well, that fucking sucked,” Boss said as I slumped down onto the bench near his locker. His brown eyes glowed with anger and his jaw was tense.
Coach stared around at everyone as they started removing their gear and let out a growl as he loosened his tie. “We’re practicing double time this week,” he snapped, then turned to me. “You wouldn’t have gotten so fucking showy out there. You wouldn’t have done this, Atlas.”
I flinched because I wasn’t exactly sure that was a compliment. “Probably not, Coach. But I might not have scored that first goal the way Wy did, either.”
Coach took his phone out of his pocket and closed his eyes, leaning forward as if someone had just stabbed him in the gut. “Well, we got word that Wystan might have a torn ACL.”
It wasn’t often that everyone would get quiet in the locker room, but you could’ve heard a pin drop.
