Players turn to face me, their skates sliding listlessly rather than cutting through the ice on a mission.
Sticks tap ice. Kinsey skids to a halt beside me. “You good?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Campbell!” Coach roars.
To my surprise, Max launches onto the ice. He slips and slides in his sneakers, but somehow keeps his balance until he’s kneeling beside me.
Max grunts as he checks me over with a serious expression. “Do we need to call an ambulance?”
“What? No, I’m fine.” I laugh shakily and lean back on my hand so I can propel myself up.
“Careful,” Max barks.
“Let me help.” Kinsey grips me under my armpit.
“I’m fine,” I wrench my arm away and get up on my own.
Everyone is staring.
I’m a spectacle for a second time today.
Renthrow skates up to me, his eyes glued to my leg. “Can you make it to the boards, Campbell?”
McLanely approaches me too.
Heat burns my chest all the way up to my face. I’ve never felt this… awkward on the ice. Hockey is a game of strategy, force and pushing forward even when all seems lost. I can’t remember a time an entire game stopped just because one person went down. I’ve said I’m not hurt. There’s no reason for all the glum, concerned faces.
I glance at Max. The team manager has risen to his feet now and he’s staring at my leg as if he’s rethinking the decision to let me into his arena.
Kinsey looks seconds away from throwing me on his back and giving me a piggyback ride all the way to the town clinic.
With all the fortitude I can muster, I slap Kinsey on the back. “We getting back to the game or what?”
“Game’s over,” Max declares.
Groans of disappointment break out from the other players.
My heart lodges in my throat.
Great, Nat. You ruined it for everybody.
I feel like I should apologize.
Sorry for getting into an accident. Sorry for doing rehab. Sorry for existing.
‘You might as well start apologizing for world hunger and climate change while you’re at it.’Riley’s words from earlier this morning fill my head.
As Max leaves the ice, the guy who clipped me skates closer, guilt written all over his face. “Sorry, man. I was going for the puck, I swear.”
I give him a reassuring pat on the back. I’ve fielded some dirty hits before and this didn’t feel like that. “It was clean. Just bad timing.”
He gives me a grateful smile and skates off the ice.
I look across the rink where Max and Coach are speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Are they discussing my leg?
Campbell’s a cripple.
