I shrugged. “That’s McAvoy.”
“Odd-man breaks, let’s go!” Coach skated out and started pulling attacking groups. “We’re doing 2 v 1. Bouchard, you’ve been dragging your ass all session. You know what that means.”
I flanked Hunter on the right, to get a better read on the attack. Of course, this was done against a backdrop of ‘Quit draggingthat ass, Bouchard’, ‘Typical Frenchie’, and a slew of other burns from the guys.
But I had bigger things on my mind, like the sudden spotlight on me and my performance. Also, van der Berg and Hopper with their eagle eyes. It was easier to slack off in the middle of a group, especially when Landon made sure he hogged all the attention.
Mason and Grayson were up first. The whistle blew, and they pushed off with clean attacking lanes. I expected the deke from Mason on the right and crossed left to get an early block on Grayson, who’d then take the shot.
My timing was perfect. But my reach wasn’t. The puck slid about two inches out of my safe mobility zone, so the poke check turned out to be nothing more than a harmless graze. Grayson snapped it up in a mohawk and planted it straight between Hunter’s legs.
Whistle.
“What the fuck was that? Huh?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
He was already calling the next two attackers. “Don’t give me sorry, and don’t give me a repeat of last season. Do your job.”
I would’ve done fine hacking through the rest of this session without thinking about the finals. Or the way I totally bombed out to lose our last chance at lifting the cup.
Adding insult to injury was Landon pulling up next to Shawn. He took off before the whistle, not bothering to pass to Shawn at all. The guys recognized the stand-off and drew in for a closer look.
I crowded the rookie fast, because the less room he had for any of that fancy flair he liked, the better. But the fucker fakedme out, passed the puck forward between his legs, and picked it up behind me. I spun round, relieved to see Hunter had the left side covered. The relief didn’t last, though. Landon scooped the puck over his head in an arc we all followed, like spectators at a volleyball game. Then he brought up his stick and slapped it mid-air, top corner, before Hunter had a chance to pivot.
“I got goals for days, baby.” Landon sailed across the ice in a victory lap. “Montreal better check it.”
He got a clap on the back from Coach, and all I got was a death stare. “You look like you’re auditioning for the bench. Is that what you’re doing?”
“No, Coach.” I grit my teeth and mustered up the will to get through the session without any blowouts. “Guess I’m still shaking off the flight.”
We were all thinking it, but the guys slowly increased their distance from me in the bleakest show of non-solidarity I’d seen. Except Hunter. He’d tensed, but stuck to his line.
“Cool it, man,” he muttered under his breath.
“I am cool.” Then I skated for the bench. “I’m just fucking tired, and don’t need this shit.”
“Bouchard!” Probably the only time my name would ever ring out in Bell Centre.
But I didn’t stop. I didn’t care about Coach being mad at me.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t walk out on a session.”
Reese caught my eye as I passed her. “Take a breath. You can’t—”
Whatever she said got lost in the red haze closing in. When I reached the lockers, it had taken me over completely. Rage.Humiliation. That gnawing guilt that I’d been living with for months…
The next time I became aware of myself, I was staring out over the pond behind my old elementary school. I’d changed out of my gear, left the arena, and somehow made it all the way uptown without a conscious thought. I sank onto the grass with a sigh. Defeated. That’s how I felt.
At first, my plan seemed perfect. Push through the shoulder thing to stay in the game and make up for what I cost the team last season. All I had to do was keep from upsetting the damn thing, and I’d be a hundred percent by the time playoffs rolled around.
I dug a stone out of the damp soil and skipped it across the smooth surface of the water in front of me. Shoulder thing. I didn’t even know what the hell was wrong with me.
“You came an awful long way to warm a bench, Bouchard.” Reese didn’t wait for an invitation to sit down next to me.
Elbows on my knees, I kept my eyes on the water. “You stalking me now?”
“Would you rather I had left McAvoy to come get you himself?”
