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“Left, left!” Kirill shouts to Bain, signaling the approach of another Wildcat. Drake is ever alert in the net, his eyes tracking not only the opponent with the puck but the other guy sneaking up the right. Just as the shot comes in, he slides across, blocking the puck with a brilliant save, the rebound skittering toward the boards.
Stone is first to it, tapping it back to Bain, who circles our net, creating space and pulling the opposing forwards with him. I find an opening on the right, and Bain sends a crisp pass my way. Time to take it to their end.
Kirill and Bain head down ice. I move to the center, dropping the puck to Coen coming up behind me and move to the right wing. Stone sets up on the left as Coen approaches the blue line. He’s met by a Wildcat defender but gets the puck off to me near the boards.
A player comes at me just as Stone calls for the pass, but he’s got a Wildcat shadow on him. I fake the pass, causing the defenseman on me to commit, then slip the puck between his legs and speed past him.
My heart races as the net looms closer. I could shoot, but the goalie is expecting it. Instead, I spot Coen streaking down the center, getting into perfect position.
I snap a quick pass across and he takes a one-timer, sending the puck screaming toward the net. The Wildcat goalie tries to scoop it out of the air but it bumps off his glove. Sticks slap at the puck until it squirts loose, straight onto the blade of the enemy’s star forward, Kyle McKetchen. He’s one of the best players in this league and he breaks fast with the puck.
It puts him one-on-one against Kirill who defends the center lane as Drake leans to the side to watch around his frame. I dig deep, skating as hard as I can, trying to back-check. Just as it looks like he’s going to shoot, I manage to poke the puck away from behind, disrupting his shot and giving him a tiny shove as well. The puck wobbles toward the net and Drake covers it easily with his glove to stop play.
When the whistle sounds, my line skates back to the bench. I’m exhausted from that roughly thirty seconds out there and completely dissatisfied with our performance.
It just wasn’t good enough and now we’re down to less than two minutes until this game is over.
♦
Not a wordis spoken as we trudge down the hallway and into the locker room. The only sound is the clapping of skate guards on the concrete floor until we reach the plush carpeting of the locker room. I imagine the emotions rocketing through each of us are varied and individualized, probably ranging from melancholy to anger.
I’m furious and as soon as I reach my cubby, I grab the edge of the bench in front of it. I lift and hurl it end over end. The crash of its metal legs into the lockers that hold my, Van’s and Camden’s belongings is jarring and everyone freezes to stare at me with wide eyes.
I ignore them, dropping onto another bench where I efficiently remove my skates. Other players dribble in, all quietly disrobing. I’m the first undressed and into the showers.
The water is ice cold when I step under it and I don’t bother warming it up. I need the shock to my system, something to knock me out of this rageful desire to destroy things. I’m pissed at my performance, frustrated we lost and our playoff run is over, and I’m filled with so much bitterness over Aiden’s condition that I’m afraid if someone looks at me wrong I’ll take a swing at them.
As other players enter the shower, I note they keep their distance. I lift my face to the cold stinging needles and will myself to calm down. But all I can think about is how weak Aiden was when he wished me good luck this morning before I left the hospital. His cough was worse, he had the shivers and he couldn’t even stand because his blood pressure was bottoming out. It was utterly terrifying and yet that kid smiled at me as I walked out the door to the arena. I think about how Lilly looked, like she was going to break into a million pieces and how Steven had that thirsty look of a man teetering on a bender. I couldn’t do a damn thing to help any of them and I was a complete fucking failure tonight.
With the freezing water on my face producing near numbness, I’m shocked when something erupts from my chest. A horrible bark of pain, which I immediately try to suck back into my lungs, but it comes out again, and again, and again, and I can’t stop it. Huge, wracking sobs take my body hostage and while I can’t feel the warmth of my tears as they’re washed away by the chilly spray, I know I’m crying my eyes out while my teammates must be watching on in horror.
“Boone,” someone says. I’m not sure who.
“I’m good,” I mutter, rubbing my hands over my face while the water pelts me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and grit my teeth.
No one says another word and I don’t look at any of the other players as I turn off the water and wrap my towel around my waist.
I snag another towel on the way out and put it around my shoulders, wiping my face and hair. My eyes stay pinned on the ground as I pad back to my cubby and I note the bench I’d tossed is back in place.
My gaze lifts and several of the guys are there, in various states of undress. Camden, Drake and Coen are in low murmured conversation. Stone moves to his locker on the other side of them, a towel wrapped around his waist, same as me.
Van sits on the bench, reading something on his phone. Glancing up, he asks, “Anything I can do?”
I shake my head as I get dressed. “I’m good.”
“You’re not,” Drake says, turning my way. I’m not sure if he’s talking about me throwing the bench or because he witnessed my shower breakdown. Or maybe he just looks at me and knows.
Regardless, I’m not going to argue. I’m nowhere near good but I don’t want to talk about it so I ignore the comment and concentrate on putting on my suit. I’m heading straight to the hospital as I assume Lilly’s still there, but I’ll call when I leave the arena.
“Is it Aiden?” Coen asks.
And somehow, the entire team is standing there. I glance around and it’s three guys deep surrounding me, every single one of them in a semicircle, including the coaches, equipment managers and trainers. All pressing in on me, empathy on their faces.
Not one of them cares in this slice of time about losing the game.
Losing the playoffs.
Everyone wants to know about the little boy I brought into their lives a few months ago who belongs to the woman I fell in love with.
