“Fuck,” I groan as I shake out my body and let out a cough.
“You fucking got this, how do you feel?”
“Like my fucking nose is on fire, but better,” I say. Alexi takes my water bottle, spraying down my hair and the back side of my jersey, immediately cooling my skin down.
“Eight more minutes. All we need is eight more minutes, and then you can rest. I’ll carry you to the fucking hotel, airplane, home. Wherever the fuck.” He looks panicked, and I’m not sure if it’s the urge to win or to please Alexi that pushes me.
“I got it, I’m good.” He grips my jersey to look at me, and I shake my head. “I said I’m fucking good.”
He grins. “I should kiss that smart little mouth right now. Later,” he says, skating back to the bench, where he puts his glove back on and tosses the smelling salts to Eli. He gives Nilsen a look, and the fight immediately stops.
That sneaky fuck instigated a fight in order to give me a break. I shake my head and smile to myself as I put my helmet back on.
I can handle eight minutes.
With Nilsen fighting his cousin, they both get penalties, and we’re four on four for the next two minutes.
Each team holds their own.
I can handle six minutes.
Mikael takes a hard hit against the boards and is pulled onto the bench. Eli and Alexi are running the line and have a few good shots before the Canes turn it around on us. It’s two close calls, but I don’t let anything in.
I can handle four minutes.
Things only pick up in intensity, neither one of us wanting this to go into overtime. Both of us can taste the first win and set the pace for the rest of the series. The winner of the first game in a series typically has a sixty-five percent chance of taking the whole series. Those are the type of odds you want on your side.
I can handle two minutes.
Alexi and Eli get trapped against the boards, trying to dig out the puck. It’s passed to Kristiansen who’s on my left. I’m fast, but not fast enough as he scoops it in the net. The siren sounds, and the Canes’ fans go wild.
“Fuck,” I grumble, smacking my stick against the corner of the goal and knocking it off the ice. The ref comes over and resets it while giving me a shitty look.
I can tell Alexi wants to skate over but instead gives me space. Anything is possible, and I know I can pull it together for overtime if we can rally and get a Foxes goal.
But we don’t. We start this series at a deficit, and I can’t help but feel like it’s all my fault.
* * *
For what it’s worth, Alexi keeps his promise, nearly carrying me to the hotel room and getting us food.
My phone buzzes, and I answer the call from bed, even though I’m ready to pass out.
“What’s wrong?” Piper’s pretty face asks, and I shake my head.
“Just a hard loss.”
Her eyebrows scrunch, and I see her look behind me at Alexi. “It feels like more than just a loss,” she says quietly.
“I’m just tired; it’s not a big deal.”
“You promise? Please don’t bottle shit up. I promise you, it’s not worth it.” Her face is soft and pleading. Alexi grabs the phone from me as I sit there speechless and not sure what to say.
“Don’t worry,malyshka.I’ll take care of him.”
“I know you will. I don’t doubt that for a bit.”
“What do you need, Owen?” Alexi asks me plainly. I blink at him, my emotions reeling through me. I’m tired, needy, and I feel crushing guilt from the loss of tonight's game.
