The fear loosens its grip on me, and I breathe out a sigh of relief that Seattle’s not gonna be too much of a challenge.
I guard the net, watching my team cut across the ice, taking shot after shot. Then, midway through the first period, it happens.
Seattle’s forward comes down the left wing and takes a simple shot from a bad angle. It’s the kind of save I’ve made thousands of times.
Except I’m not watching the puck. My gaze catches on Zane behind the bench, remembering the way he looked at me in the bathroom last night.
The puck slides between my legs and into the net like I’m not even there.
Silence falls over the crowd for a hot second before the spectators erupt into deafening cheers. Seattle rushes the ice, and I stand in the net, stunned.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
“Shake it off,” Masterson says, skating past me. “It was a bad bounce.”
But it wasn’t a bad bounce. It was me. A goalie who’s more concerned with his personal life than doing his job.
Things get worse from there.
Their second goal comes about ten minutes later. Another easy shot, one I should have had blindfolded. This time I see Zane stand up behind the bench and run a hand through his hair as he looks at Coach Enver, whose face is bright red.
By the end of the second period, we’re down three to nothing and Coach Enver is looking at me like he’s gonna take me out.
My pulse spikes, my eyes falling on Liam Parker, who’s ready on the bench.
Enver catches me boards when the guys leave the ice for intermission. “What the hell is going on out there?”
I pull off my helmet. “Nothing. I guess I’m just having trouble reading the shots.”
“Reading the shots? Barnes, these are shots my grandmother could stop.”
He’s not wrong. But I can’t tell him that I’m falling apart because I’m in love with my goalie coach and it’s destroying my ability to focus.
The third period is more of the same. Seattle scores twice more, and by the time Enver finally pulls me for Parker, we’re down five to one and the game is pretty much over.
I sit on the bench for the rest of the third period, watching Parker play the position I should be playing. He blocks every shot Seattle takes, looking like the seasoned pro I used to be.
My head falls into my hands. I finally hit rock bottom. Getting pulled from a game we should have won easily, letting my team down, proving to everyone that maybe I really am as broken as they think.
The press surrounds the entrance to the locker room, circling like vultures until I appear. And they want answers…answers I can’t give them.
“Tate, can you walk us through what went wrong tonight?”
My jaw tenses. “Just one of those games. Sometimes the puck doesn’t bounce your way.”
“This is your second poor performance in the last month. Are you concerned about your consistency?”
I glare at the guy who asks the question. “Every goalie goes through rough patches. I’ll bounce back,” I say, trying to push past the people huddled by the doorway. But a petite woman with sharp eyes positions herself directly in my path.
“There are rumors that management is concerned about your play. Any comment?”
I catch a glimpse of Zane standing behind the crowd of bloggers and reporters, and my stomach clenches. “My focus is on helping this team win games. That’s all I’m thinking about,” I say, edging past her.
Back at the hotel, I avoid the team and head up to my room. I can’t even think of eating so I shower and put onYouTube. My phone buzzes constantly. I ignore the texts from my teammates, my parents, and Mark asking if I’m okay.
I just want to disappear, to forget this day ever happened.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand at eleven o’clock. Mark’s name flashes on the screen.
