For the first time, I kinda like the sound of that.
11
Lennon
There’s nothing like the smell of fresh ice. The air is cool against my face as I glide over to the net, five of my teammates in tow. It’s our third game of the season, and the energy is high, even more so because of who we’re playing.
“Let’s get another win, alright?” Aubrey looks purposefully at each of us gathered in our small circle. She, Austen, and Jordyn make up our first line, and Charlotte and Maria are the starting defensemen for today. “Remington may think because they knocked us out of the tournament last year that it’s going to be an easy win for them.” That game flashes through my head, like it does most nights, and I tap my stick against the ice in a steady rhythm to tether me to the present. “But remember, we kicked their asses over and over again last season before the tournament. And we can do it again today.”
“We got this,” Austen pipes in, putting her glove in the center of the circle. Everyone follows suit, and Aubrey counts, “One, two, three,” before we all yell, “Huskies!”
Each of my teammates taps my helmet before skating toward center ice. I run my stick along the crease four times, back and forth, methodically syncing my breathing with the movement. The crowd that’s gathered in the arena to watch this rivalry game today fades into my peripheral as I push aside the noise.
Everything narrows into pinpoint focus as the referee skates forward for the face-off. With a drop of the puck, the game is off.
Right from the start, it’s the most aggressive game we’ve had so far this season. The Redhawks draw three penalties out of us, but we draw two on them in return.
There’s a lot of trash talk being thrown around between the lines, which isn’t unusual for our two schools. I catch brief glimpses of it, but for the most part, being the goalie, you keep out of the fray.
But it doesn’t stop their star forward, Sydney, from chirping me after she scores their third goal of the game in the second period.
“See someone hasn’t stepped up since last year,” she jeers and skates off toward their bench. I want to scream at her, to leave the crease and charge over there, but I try to keep a level head. She’s just trying to psych me out. It happens.
But fuck, it’s hard to shake off as flashbacks from last season hit me one after another, and Remington spends more time on offense than we do. Shot after shot comes toward me. Elbows are flying between players, and the refs are letting a lot slide. They know the history between the teams. Unless it’s too obvious that it can’t be ignored, they’re not calling a lot of the roughness happening.
A whistle blows, and Coach calls a timeout. As I approach the bench, Grace is pulling her helmet on and grabbing her stick.
I shoot her a questioning look as she grimaces. What the?—
“Kilcrease, you’re out for this one,” Coach says.
My stomach drops, and I blink back hot tears that suddenly spring to my eyes, threatening to break free. “I know I’ve been off, but it’s only the second period?—”
She levels me with a look that has me swallowing any further arguments.
“I’m sorry,” Grace murmurs as she steps onto the ice.
I catch her eye and soften when I see the apprehension there. There are less than a handful of times when she has ever stepped in for me mid-game. “Don’t be,” I mutter. “Go get ‘em.”
She skates toward the net and starts carving up the ice the way she likes it, and I hang my head as I step off.
Coach Maver pats my shoulder. “Head on back to the locker room. Coach Holloway will take you.”
Like a babysitter? Fucking hell. I purse my lips and head down the tunnel, ignoring the sympathetic looks of my teammates. I cost them three goals. They should be happy Grace is stepping in.
Humiliation and disappointment fuel a newly growing sense of anger, and by the time I make it into the locker room, I can’t stop myself. Without thinking, I raise my stick above my head and smash it down onto one of the benches. It reverberates in my gloved hands but doesn’t break. With a frustrated grunt, I smash it a second, then third time before it snaps in half.
I toss it to the floor and shake off my gloves and mask, letting them join the pile. My eyes burn and skin itches beneath my pads. The air in here is heavy, making each breath come harder and harder.
I claw at the neck of my jersey, needing it loose, when a deep voice startles me. “That make you feel better?”
Fuck, I forgot he followed me. A glance toward the entrance to the room reveals Coach Holloway standing with his hands in his pockets, watching me with an impassive expression.
“No,” I grit out. “Nothing’s going to make me feel better right now except beingalone.” Hopefully he takes the hint and heads back to the bench with the rest of the team.
“Do you understand why I had you pulled?”
I whip around. “Youwhat?”
