Stephen says nothing in response. His eyes well with tears as he watches me move around the room, grabbing my clothes and stuffing them into my bag. I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I do, I’ll break. I just need to get out of here and get on the ice.
The silence is thick, filled with the emptiness of Presley’s absence. And in that silence, the bitter truth settles deep in my bones.
She’s gone.
There’snothing like having home advantage.
The roar of the crowd, the sea of yellow-and-black jerseys, the kids holding up signs with your name on it—there’s no feeling like it.
And winning always tastes a little sweeter when we’re playing against Philly.
I thought it’d be different playing against Chance now that we’re together; maybe we’d go easier on the other, or not fight as much. But it seems to have had the opposite effect. We’re all over each other, blocking shots, creating openings for our teammates, and playing better than we ever have. We’re explosive together on the ice. Then again, we’ve always been explosive off the ice as well. It’s almost like hockey is our foreplay.
“You look a little winded,” Chance shouts, his stick knocking into mine as he bumps me with his shoulder. “Tired already?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want me to make it easier for you?”
“Not a fucking chance.” He darts in front of me and steals the puck, skating off in the opposite direction.
He passes it to one of his teammates, but Alexander is there to intercept. He skates back down the ice and takes a shot between two of Philly’s defenseman.
The buzzer sounds, and I raise my arms overhead. “Fuck, yeah!”
The scoreboard changes: 1-0. The crowd is electric around us, cheering us on and booing the shit out of Philadelphia.
In the second period, our hits get harder, and Chance and I both spend some time in the penalty box. He grins at me with his bloody mouth, his dark eyes shining with the promise of what’s to come when we get home later.
But there’s aggressive plays, and then there’s illegal hits—and that’s where Chance’s teammate, Ivanov, pushes the line. He plays like he doesn’t give a fuck whether he gets ejected from the game, or fined for his attitude. And tonight, he’s pissed that his team can’t seem to score.
I’m flying down the ice with the puck toward the Sharks’ goalie with Ivanov practically up my ass. His stick juts out under my skates and trips me up. He’s not even trying to get the puck—he wants me to fall.
Where the hell is the ref?
Alexander glides alongside him and shoves him out of the way, allowing me the space to surge ahead. I make an attempt on the goalie, but Chance is there to stop it. He takes it all the way to Trenton, but my goalie stops it like he always does, and passes it to Alex.
And then Alexander shoots across the rink like lightning.
The crowd is deafening. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to get ahead of him to set up the play. Chance is right behind him though, and Alex can’t make a safe pass withoutlosing the puck. He takes it around the back of the net, but Chance runs him into the boards trying to steal it.
Alexander is one talented motherfucker though, and he manages to get out from under Chance’s pressure. With his head down, he focuses on getting into position to make another winning goal. With Chance right behind him, it’s a risky move, but I have faith in my captain.
As a winger, it’s my job to work with the center—which would be Alex—in order to make a play happen. I’m supposed to be a step ahead of everyone else, seeing opportunities and creating openings to score.
Somehow, I don’t see this coming.
Ivanov whizzes past me, making a direct line toward Alex and Chance. He doesn’t slow down as he approaches them, and Alexander is too busy trying to escape Chance and score to notice.
What the fuck is Ivanov doing?
My voice catches in my throat as I freeze, realizing what’s happening only milliseconds before it happens.
“Stop!” I shout.
But it’s too little too late.
Ivanov slams into Alexander head-on. It’s a hard hit, and the crowd gasps as the air leaves my lungs. Alex is sandwiched between Ivanov and Chance, and it’s so forceful that the three of them propel backward.
Alexander’s helmet flies off just before he lands on his back, and his head bounces off the ice.