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“Is that the best you can do, Anderson?” Ryder appears at my side out of nowhere, and he’s glaring at the trash talker. “Your defense isn’t the only thing you need to work on.”
Then he turns to me, and I hate what I see in his eyes. There’s concern, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s a pity. I hate him for that.
“Don’t let it get to you,” he tells me. “Just try to have fun, yeah? Remember why you’re playing.”
That’s the thing. Right now, I can’t remember. Why do I do this? What was the point in the first place? I used to love this, didn’t I? I feel like I did. That’s what my memory tells me. Right now, I’ll be damned if I know why. What the hell is happening to me?
There’s no time to think it over with the game moving as fast as it does. I skate until my legs burn, moving as fast as I can, but I’m still clunky and distracted when the puck comes my way. I am barely able to take the pass and get control of the puck while scanning the area, looking for a clear lane.
I pass it off to Danny, and right on time, since the next thing I know I’m slammed against the boards hard enough to make my ears ring. Everything around me goes a little fuzzy for a second and I shake my head to clear the cobwebs.
It was the same trash talking dickbag as before, and he’s now grinning over his shoulder as he skates away. Asshole.
I can barely breathe for the tightness in my chest. Who the hell does he think he is? Who does he think he’s dealing with? I’m flying up behind him before I know what I’m doing, and a sharp shove makes him stumble and almost fall.
“Oops!” I shout when he whirls on me. “It sucks getting blindsided like that, doesn’t it?”
“What, are you going to be a fucking crybaby now?” he shouts.
“You should watch the shit that comes out of your mouth if you don’t want to end up spitting out your teeth.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
I don’t answer in words. My answer comes in the form of a dropped pair of gloves and a punch to his jaw. Something inside me roars in approval even though deep down inside I know I’m fucking myself by doing this. It feels too damn good to vent my frustration on this prick, even after we’re pulled off each other and I’m sent to the penalty box for five minutes.
It’s no surprise when Coach practically pounces on me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing out there?” he screams in my ear. “Since when do you pull shit like this? Who are you?”
He doesn’t expect an answer – it’s definitely a rhetorical question. Good thing, because I wouldn’t know what to say if I tried. I don’t know why any of this is happening. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t even know why I’m here. If I can’t handle being down a couple of goals, if I can’t let trash talk roll off my back, what business do I have wearing this jersey?
He finally gives up and goes back to yelling at the rest of the team instead of focusing on me. I have to sit and watch while the Rattlesnakes score yet another goal on us. At least I can’t blame that one on myself, since I still have a couple of minutes before I’m allowed back on the ice.
She’s watching. I don’t know where she is, but I know she’s here. She’s watching me make a goddamn fool of myself. I can’t shake the feeling of trying to hold onto something as tight as I can, and watching it slip through my fingers anyway. I’m watching what could end up being my future slip away from me, and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. This isn’t me. I don’t roll over and play dead when there’s a challenge or an obstacle in my way. Yet here I sit, fighting the feeling that I am losing everything that used to be mine.
It’s that feeling that propels me back onto the ice once five minutes is up. It’s anger that pushes me, that forces me to push myself. Somebody has got to turn this game around.
And it’s not going to be me. “Fuck!” My scream is drowned out by the buzzer signaling yet another goal for the Rattlesnakes.
My heart is about to race its way right out of my chest. I can barely breathe. Something like panic spreads its way through me, and I’ve never in my life felt this stuck. I’m unable to do what I have to do to help my team.
So when I spot the asshole with the big mouth, I go out of my way to bump him on my way past.
And I’m so busy hating myself and questioning why I’m here that I don’t notice when he lowers his stick in front of my feet. One second, I’m on my blades. The next, I’m tripping, I’m falling, and the momentum sends me headfirst into the boards.
There’s no time to register what just happened before the world goes black.
29
HARLOW
It was bad enough, watching Ash hit the boards that way. Gasps ring out all around me, and I doubt I will ever forget the sick sensation that washed over me all at once when he made impact.
But it’s the way he doesn’t move that gets me on my feet with my heart lodged in my throat. No. No, not like this. This is not the way it’s supposed to be.
All gameplay comes to a halt as the medical crew steps onto the ice, where several team members – including Ryder and Soren – have gathered around their fallen teammate.
Get up. Get up.It’s only when there’s a sharp pain in my palms that I realize I’m clenching my fists tight enough that my nails are almost breaking skin. He has to get up. He just has to.
But he’s not. I can hardly breathe as I watch the medics load him onto a stretcher. I’m out of the row and on my way to the parking lot without giving it a second thought, and by the time I’m behind the wheel, the ambulance is starting out for the hospital. I follow behind, blinking back tears and praying to whoever or whatever cares to listen. Please, let him be safe. Please, let him be okay.
