My heart pounds wildly inside my chest, beating erratically as if I were on the ice in an intense game.
“You got this, Easton. You’re almost home free.”
And now I’m muttering to myself.
Great.
Somewhere to my right—or maybe it’s my left—I hear a dog barking.
Smell the telltale signs of a charcoal grill. Burgers?
It’s hard to tell.
My stomach rolls again in one last act of betrayal.
Do not puke. Do not puke.
Do.
Not.
PUKE.
I suck in an inhale to keep my breathing in check.
In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the—
Stumble again, hitting something hard at hip height.
Fumble in front of me to gauge what that thing might be.
Wood?
A bush?
“Hey.You!”
Oh shit.
Oh no.
“YOU! STOP!”
I pick up my pace, choking down the vomit in my throat, adrenaline shooting through my entire body and—
Hit the ground harder than any time I’ve been hit by any defenseman or thrown to the ice during a game.
Whoosh.
The air leaves my body, the monstrosity partially leaves my head, the gust of air a welcome invader.
Yes. Thank god, I can finally breathe.
Still can’t see, though.
My hands move first, up to remove it, gripping the sides, pulling.
“FREEZE, MOTHER EFFER,” the voice commands.
