“You don’t understand,” I said, sounding stupid and defensive and exactly like the little kid I just swore I wasn’t. And as soon as her weight shifted, I pushed to sit up. Without waiting for her to find even footing.
She was pissed off, but so was I. “You’ve never had to carry a whole team, a whole cup run on your back.”
“I never said I did.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to play with a huge loss tattooed on your face. With everyone watching and waiting for you to screw up again. So maybe butt out and let me do my job.”
Her face had turned a dangerous shade of red. “Butt out? I’m the only thing keeping you on that ice. Or have you forgotten?”
My arm was numb and raging at the same time. Fucking idiot. I shouldn’t have pushed off the table that hard.
But I was done being treated like some invalid.
“Quit acting like we don’t both have stakes in this, Hopper.”
“Oh, you don’t have to remind me,” she said, matching me beat for beat. “I know why I’m doing this, but can you say the same?” Her voice was strangely cold. It hurt almost more than my fucking arm. “You’re putting your body on the line for a game. A game! Never mind that it could wreck your career and probably affect strength and mobility for the rest of your life. It’s—”
“It’s none of your goddamn business what I do, or how I do it.” I fumbled with my compression shirt. Thanks to my little tantrum, it was impossible to do without wincing. I caught the way she almost reached over to help me, but then forced her hands into the pockets of her track pants.
“You were stupid to push yourself this far, this badly,” she said, seething.
“I guess that’s not your problem anymore, now is it?”
“Bouchard—”
My hand froze on the door handle, but I didn’t turn around.
“I know the body like you know hockey,” she said, coming over to me. “I know what I’m talking about when I say you have to get that shoulder scanned, or risk doing irreversible damage.”
I swallowed. She was right. And that fact was infuriating. I wanted to tell her to leave me alone, to step off, to let me handle it my way. Instead I jerked my shoulder in a slight shrug, just enough to indicate movement without betraying weakness, and wrenched the door open.
“I’m not gonna tell you again. I’m fine.” Then I left the med bay, stalking down the Delta Center hallway, back to our locker room.
*
The rink lights hit me like a spotlight the second I stepped onto the ice. Utah had been rattled the last few games, but no team in the playoffs could be taken lightly. I tucked my chin and skated through the warm-up, letting the chatter from my teammates roll past, a mix of ribbing and last-minute strategy.
Reese hadn’t been subtle in getting under my skin earlier, and it was still there, a tight coil I couldn’t unwind. I shoved it aside for the time being though, focusing on the puck and the boards and the ice beneath my skates.
The first faceoff, and Mason darted up the left wing, eyes on the crease. He called for a pass. Grayson angled toward the net while Shawn cut across the slot, drawing the defense wide. I held the line just inside the blue, ready to intercept.
But it wasn’t necessary. Not just yet. Because Mason slotted the puck hard and low, right in the left corner.
“Booyah!”
Game on.
I pivoted a little too sharply, shoulder flaring in protest, but my skates stayed steady.
“Okay there, Bouchard?” Hunter smacked his pads with his stick. “Looking a little weak in the knees.”
“What can I say? Your mom always has this effect on me.” I skated behind his net with a cackle I knew would add insult to injury.
“Suck it.” He flipped me off when I came back around.
“That’s what I told her last night,” I replied without missing a beat. “Made her day.”
He lunged for me with his stick, but the whistle went again and put an end to the fun and games for the moment.
