I halted. “Hmm?”
He glanced around to be sure we were alone. Then he inclined his head and looked me right in the eyes. “You’venever been like this. I’ve seen you bounce right back and play after someone’s left in an ambulance, but lately, every time someone goes down…” His brows knitted. “What’s going on?”
I avoided his gaze, which wasn’t easy when it was boring into me like that. “I’m… I’m good. It just stresses me out, you know?”
“I know it does. But we have to be able to play through it, and you’ve never had a problem with that.”
I finally met his eyes, and the subtle softness in his brought a lump into my throat. He didn’t ask it out loud, but I heard it like the goal horn had just sounded:
Is this about Leif?
Christ. Everyone thought I was hanging by a thread because of that, didn’t they? And why shouldn’t they? After the way I fell apart at the home opener—yeah, I’d be questioning it too.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, ignoring the way my voice tried to crack. “I just—I feel a lot more responsibility for the guys now, you know?” I tapped the C on my chest.
Coach glanced at the letter, and his lips pulled tight. I didn’t think he believed me. I didn’t even know if I believed me. It was just the only explanation that made any sense.
He sighed. “I saw the way you were looking at Larsson during your shifts.” He shook his head. “Don’t, Calds. Just don’t.”
There was no point in playing stupid or arguing with him. I knew what he was saying—do not get into a goddamned fight tonight. Which… fair. Coach wasn’t one of the old-school coaches who liked a lot of fighting and physicality. He wanted some grit, of course, but he was more focused on things like precision in offense and defense. Fights didn’t score points.
They could turn the tide sometimes and shift the team’s attitude. Shake up the crowd and give them a bloodthirsty vibe that could help drive us offensively.
But not every dirty play warranted a retaliatory fight, especially because the resulting penalty could be costly.
So… fine.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll… I won’t fight him.”
Coach nodded sharply. Then he tilted his head toward the locker room, dismissing me.
When I stepped into the room, I finally let go of a relieved breath.
Not only was Peyton upright and moving, he was pulling his gear back on. He wasn’t standing completely straight—there was a subtle hunch to his posture—but he clearly intended to return to the game.
I’d known he wasn’t seriously injured. Getting hit down south hurt like a motherfucker, but didn’tusuallymean major damage. If I had to guess, he’d be sending a handwritten thank-you and an expensive bottle of wine to the company that manufactured his athletic cup.
I clomped over to his stall. “Hey. You really coming back next period?”
“Of course.” He met my gaze with a startled expression, as if he were surprised I was talking to him. Which… okay. Fine. But then he shook it off and flashed me a grin. “They’ll have to work harder than that to put me on the bench.”
Rolling with thethis is fine, everything is finevibe, I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t think I’d challenge them to dothatharder.”
He winced, and I thought he shuddered. “Yeah. Fuck that.” He tugged at his sleeve. “But I want to beat them, and I want to score on them.”
Okay, yeah, that sounded like a hockey player. We all played through all kinds of injuries; as long as we weren’t bleeding everywhere or didn’t have a concussion, no one would stop us.
Though we all had our limits. I’d probably still be curled on the ice in a fetal position after an injury like that, but clearly Peyton was more angry and determined than anything. More power to him.
I clapped his shoulder gently. “Well, let’s get out there and get you that goal.”
He flashed me a lopsided grin that made my spine tingle, and he held up his fist. “Let’s do it.”
I bumped his fist, then went back to my own stall to cool off and hydrate. And maybe catch my breath from talking to him about something other than the things we were both avoiding talking about.
Was that hope I was feeling? Hope that maybe we could put that night behind us and act like teammates again?
God, please… Because I don’t know how to fix this otherwise, and I don’t know how to handle the awkwardness.
