"Corners drill!" Coach's voice cut through the noise. "Hawkins, Pickle—you're up!"
We lined up across from each other. Coach dropped the puck.
We crashed together, and my timing was off. I went in too high and caught Pickle's shoulder instead of his chest. We both stumbled.
"Again!" Coach demanded.
We reset. This time, I overcompensated and went in too low. Pickle's elbow caught me in the jaw—accidental—but enough to make stars bloom behind my eyes.
"Fuck," I muttered.
"You good?" Pickle's eyes were wide behind his cage.
"Yeah."
In the next drill, Desrosiers lined me up along the boards.
It was a clean hit—textbook positioning, but I hadn't seen it coming. When his shoulder connected with mine, the world tilted sideways.
I went down hard. Shoulder, hip, and helmet cracking against the ice.
The impact knocked the air out of my lungs. I lay there staring up at the rafters—ancient beams, water-stained ceiling tiles, and the scoreboard hanging crooked.
Rhett's voice, clear as if he were standing over me:I'm staying here.He meant it, but staying required showing up every day and choosing it over and over. And what happened when the choosing got hard?
"Hog!" Desrosiers' face appeared above me. "You alive?"
"Yeah." My voice came out rough. "Yeah, I'm good."
Coach's whistle shrieked. "Hawkins! Bench! Now!"
I skated over, edges wobbling.
Coach was already there, arms crossed, jaw working his gum. "Where's your head?"
I opened my mouth and shook my head once. No sound came out.
"That's what I thought." He pointed at the bench. "Sit. Get your head straight before you take someone else out."
The rest of practice unfurled before me like I was watching a movie. Jake took my spot. Pickle got extra reps. Evan glanced over at me three times.
Coach blew the final whistle. "Hit the showers!"
I dropped onto my stall and started pulling at my shoulder pads. My hands shook slightly. Jake appeared with a towel and tossed it at my head. I caught it one-handed.
"That was ugly," he said.
I forced a grin. "Guess I'm due for a bad day."
"Bad day." Jake sat down hard. "That wasn't a bad day. That was you trying to get yourself killed."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
Pain flared white-hot in my shoulder when I finally yanked the pads free. I sucked air through my teeth.
"Let me see," Jake said.
