“With a fuckton of penalties,” Coach Hill says as he walks in, slamming his notebook down on a table. “What the fuck is wrong with you all tonight?”
“Zima started it!” Exton shouts, and Coach takes a deep breath before walking around the room in circles, looking for something.
“Um, Coach? What are you doing?” Abel asks.
“Looking for the best place to put a sandbox.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently, I’m DEALING WITH A BUNCH OF TODDLERS!!!”
A small hiss escapes me when Doc makes another stitch. Coach exhales loudly, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands before setting them on his waist. “How bad is it, Doc?”
“So far, I’ve put in fifty-two stitches already. He most certainly has a concussion and more bruising on his body, but I’ll know more once we get some scans done.”
“Fucking phenomenal,” Coach Hill hisses. “What the fuck was Zima thinking ramming into you like that? He’s got a four-minute ride to the box, and a painted face by Axe, but I’ll be pushing for more! What he did was fucking asinine! Okay, third period ahead, and we need to leave the other two behind butkeep the mad. You got it? Don’t let them win! Don’t give it to them!”
The next few minutes pass in a blur of Doc patching me up before everyone dons their gear again, and I get up from the bench.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Doc asks incredulously.
“To play.”
“Play?Play?Did you lose your damn mind along with your blood on that ice? You’re not going anywhere aside from the hospital.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And I said you’re not.”
“Watch me,” I grit out, my eyes narrowing, and I can’t blame him for taking an automatic step back. I must look like a rabid dog, but the thing is, I don’t give a shit. “I’m going on that ice whether you like it or no.”
“You’re injured! You have a fucking concussion.”
“I don’t give a damn! Let me sign a waiver that I’m taking full responsibility, but I’m going out there no matter what.”
“Minaev, Eagle can take the net, you don’t have to worry about the game,” Coach says, and I transfer my gaze to him.
“I don’t give a fuck about the game,” I spit out and feel the gaping eyes of my teammates trained on my back.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my animal that’s been on a hunt ever since Aurora walked away, in the cage. “My boy is in that arena, and the last thing he saw was me bleeding on that ice. So, yes, I’m going out there.”
Coach Hill tilts his head, studying me. “Your boy—”
“No, you’re not!” A voice from my nightmare and dreams alike pierces the loud silence of the room like a crack of lightning, interrupting whatever Coach was going to say.
The breath in my lungs freezes. The maddening heart rhythm slows to a steady hum.
I turn and there she stands—my Aurora. Trembling with her hands balled up at her sides and two streaks of tears running down her cheeks.
I should hate her. I should finally break free of the poison, but all I can think is,she’s here. She came. She’s been crying. She’s crying again and it’s because of me.
“Lychik,” I breathe out, watching her like an angel that claims your soul.
The girl who, by all means, shouldn’t be in my life. The one who told me she doesn’t want to be in it. The one who keeps running from me.
Why is she here?
We are standing frozen in the middle of the locker room, the hurt and longing mixing in my blood. Our chest heaving, our eyes locked on one other without seeing anything or anyone else around us. We don’t hear the throats clearing or the low murmurs spreading throughout the room. We don’t notice the looks being thrown our way, their curious eyes bouncing between their goalie, who hasn’t been seen with a girlfriend in ages, and a blonde woman crying and shaking in front of him.
