I took some slow, deep breaths as I skated, trying to calm myself the hell down. Injuries happened all the time. Guys went down all the time. This was just one of those things that came with hockey. Sure, I always worried when it was one of my guys—hell, I worried when it was anopposingplayer—but this season… fuck me. The second a Whiskey Rebel went down, I was a panicky mess on the brink of hyperventilating.
Get a grip, Caldwell. What the hell?
I had to get a grip. Had to pull it together. Nobodyneeded to see a player, never mind the team captain, falling apart just because someone got hurt.
You’re the captain, Calds.
Show the guys, the fans, andthe damn camerasthat you can handle this.
I could handle this. I’d handled it for years. Why couldn’t I calm myself down this time?
Right then, just like they had the night Eminem had gone down, the crowd started applauding and all the players started tapping their sticks. I turned, and sure enough, Peyton was slowly being helped to his feet.
He waved to the crowd, but he didn’t straighten all the way up. He stayed doubled over, and Davis and Trews each held one of his arms as they slowly led him off the ice.
Then he and Evan disappeared down the tunnel.
Now everyone was setting up again. Time to get back to hockey.
At least Coach called Davis and me back to the bench, sending out the third line in our place. Sitting there, still trying to get my head together, I watched Mix win the faceoff, and the action continued like normal.
Like goddamned normal.
While Peyton was back there. Being evaluated? Getting on an ambulance? What the hell?
Ihatedthat, when an injured player disappeared and we all had to carry on like normal. It was too damn distracting. How bad was it? Was he on the way to the hospital? Or was someone just going to give him some ice and call it good?
Could someone please tell me before I had to concentrate on hockey again?
Maybe I should’ve watched the replay after all. Maybe I should’ve?—
“Hey. Calds.” Davis bumped me with his shoulder. “You still here?”
I shook myself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m, uh…” I exhaled. “Do you think Halls is okay?”
“I’m sure he is. He’s probably in a world of hurt, but he’ll be fine.”
I raised my eyebrows. He raised his.
Gesturing at the Jumbotron, he asked, “Didn’t you see the replay?”
“No, I…” I swallowed. “I didn’t see it.”
“Oh. Yeah, it was ugly.” He nodded toward someone on the ice. “That asshole Larsson hit him in the crotch.”
I reflexively pressed my legs together. “Shit.”
“I know, right?” Davis shuddered. “Dude better hope Halls is done for the night, or he’s going to get his ass beat.”
“Maybe he still should,” I growled.
Davis grunted.
I found Larsson on the ice again and tracked him as he tried for a scoring chance. Yeah, odds were good that he was getting a beatdown tonight. Since the refs hadn’t bothered to call a penalty—well, that was where the rest of us stepped in to police ourselves.
Before this game was over, someone in black and gold would make sure Larsson thought twice before hitting a man in a tender spot again.
“Calds.” Coach caught my arm just before I stepped into the locker room for the second intermission.
