“Told you.”
“Yeah, I heard,” I said over my shoulder, afraid to take my eyes off the play for even a second. “Sounded like a prayer instead of a prediction.”
He snorted, and whatever came next got lost in the pandemonium that broke out. Because there were seconds left on the clock, and Hunter was staring down the barrel.
He flinched under a sudden wraparound attempt, feet slipping, blade catching ice wrong. Then, in some kind of freak scramble, he fell. The Surge goalie—currently number two in the league with least goals conceded—fell down. Everyone held their breath, rapt as Hunter scrambled to find his footing and failed. In one final last ditch attempt, he flung himself across the net, stick flailing. The play went from slow motion to silent movie as the puck slipped into the net.
The crowd went from frenzied roar to stunned silence for a beat before Colorado fans erupted. My first thought was Theo, but when I turned around, I didn’t see what I’d expected to see. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t yelling, he’d even stopped his commentary. He just… sat there. Eyes on the ice, on Hunter.
“You okay?”
He didn’t blink at first, just kept watching the puck bounce into the corner. Then he finally turned his head, caught my gaze, and gave the tiniest shrug, like it was nothing. “Guess we’re on to game seven,” he said, and stood up to leave.
“Yeah, game seven.”
There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, because I knew I’d have my hands full post-game. I packed my kit bag and hurried back to the locker room in the swarm of fuming Surge players. They were all feeling it, but not one of them aimed any of it at Hunter.
“It could’ve happened to anyone,” I said as we hit the tunnel. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
He grunted something, and sped up without looking at me.
The hallway felt narrower than usual, echoing with the leftover chatter of fans. My steps were quick, but my mind was stuck on the ice—the way Hunter had gone down, sliding out of control, limbs flailing. Like someone who’d never played the game before.
I kept moving, letting the others talk around me, pretending I wasn’t turning the game over in my head. But that feeling wouldn’t leave.
23
Theo
“Eyes up, fellas.” Landon knocked back his shot like it was water. “Pretty soon every woman in here is gonna be asking for my number.”
Mason snorted into his beer. “You fell over your own skates on national television.”
“Artistic choice,” Landon said, his boyish grin dialed to one hundred. “Chicks love a bad boy arc. Builds mystique.”
“They especially love being called chicks,” I muttered.
Tucker twisted on his stool, eyeing Landon like a rash he’d tried to ignore all night. “Who invited the rookie?”
“No one,” I said. “He slithered out of a crack in the wall the way he always does.”
Landon grinned at me, totally unbothered. “Relax, grandpa. And Calder, you might wanna start thinking about life after being the Surge golden boy. Crowns slip.”
“I’ll survive.” Mason lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I never wanted the damn thing to begin with.”
Hunter was the only one unamused by anything all night. He stared into his beer instead of drinking it, and only grunted a laugh once or twice since we’d arrived.
“All I’m saying is…” Landon was still going, “Once we win game 7, they’ll be talking about my breakout series.”
The mention of it brought immediate silence to our table. We’d been dancing around the topic since last night, neither of us up to the task of making Hunter relive out loud what he was obviously beating himself up over in his head.
Except me.
I’d called him after I’d gotten home. He looked like shit walking off the ice after that fumble, and I figured the least I could do was check in on him. Also, I got scared he might break and tell Coach everything.
“Game 7.” Hunter lifted his glass, surprising all of us. “May our sticks be strong, and our blades never waver.”
I clapped him on the back. “Until the final horn.”
