"Do you need us to check? Black looks like his shoulder is tight," Mike says to one of the assistant coaches. I can see Joelle standing behind him. Nibbling her nail with a look of worry.
"Cap, how's the shoulder?" Shane, one of the assistant coaches, calls out to me.
"It's fine." It's not. But I'll deal with it after the game.
"He said he's fine, Mike. But you know he'll be in your room after the game," Shane tells him.
Mike nods and turns back around with Joelle. She gives me one last look as they head back to their seats.
The play is developing. Our power play. I need to be out there. Then it's my shift again, I hop the boards without another word, skating right into it all.
We score on the power play. Felix. One-timer from the point.
It's now 2-0.
I tap my stick on the ice in celebration, but the movement sends a sharp pain through my shoulder. I grit my teeth and push through it.
One more period. Then I can deal with it.
Third period, we play defense. We need to protect the lead. The other team throws everything at us, but Nelly is a wall.
Final buzzer sounds.
We win. 2-0.
The guys celebrate on the ice with fist bumps and helmet taps. Sully pulls me into a hug. I try not to wince when he hits my shoulder.
"Good game, Cap!"
"You too."
We head off the ice, down the tunnel, and the locker room is loud. The music is pumping, the boys are celebrating and the energy is high.
"Hell yeah, boys!" Fish shouts.
Pierre claps me on the back, right on my bad shoulder. White hot pain explodes through me, and I bite down on my tongue. So much so, I taste copper, but I don’t let my face show it.
"Great game, Cap," he says.
I force a nod. I can't speak. Not yet. I'm trying to push the pain down. I move to my stall and start to strip off my gear. Shoulder pads first. But when I pull them over my head, the joint screams in protest. Fire shoots down my arm, and my vision blurs for a second. I breathe through it as I keep my face blank. Can't let the guys see. Around me, everyone's heading to the bikes for a cool-down. Ten minutes of easy spinning toflush out that lactic acid and prevent soreness tomorrow. Don't think a spin on a bike is going to help me with this shoulder. I should skip it and go straight to treatment. It's only ten minutes. I pull on a compression shirt, the fabric dragging across my shoulder. Each movement is agony. The joint feels loose. Wrong. Like something's grinding that shouldn't be. I walk to the bikes, mount the one next to Sully, and start pedaling. Light resistance. Easy spin. It's torture. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and not from exertion but from pain. Another five minutes. That's all I need.
"You don't look so good." Sully's voice is low, he looks at me with concern. I nod and keep pedaling. "You need to see Mike."
"I know."
His eyes narrow. "You're not avoiding going to the treatment room because of ..." He lets the sentence hang.
"No," I argue. But maybe there is some slight truth in it.
Three minutes left.
The door opens to the cool-down room, and I don't even need to look up because I feel her. That awareness. That pull.
Joelle.
21
EMMETT
