Breathing felt more difficult when my blades hit the ice. I couldn’t make out much of the crowd behind the glass. Everyone who wasn’t in gear looked like a blob of some sort. This was my first big game since my accident. I wanted to throw up.
“You got this. Don’t overthink it.” Lincoln bumped my shoulder with his before claiming his spot in the goal.
“All in.” Henrik stretched his hockey stick out, knocking it against mine.
I repeated his mantra, “All in.”
I blew out a breath and closed my eyes for a second to block everything out. I wasn’t out here because I’m good. Coach put me out here because I was more likely to fuck this up for us. My grip tightened on the hockey stick as I willed myself to remember I’d screwed up enough times this semester. I had it out of my system now and, statistically I was more likely to have improved. At least, I hoped that was how statistics worked. Naomi would know. She’d probably have the perfect thing to say right now. Something wildly positive and bright like, do your best and it’ll work out. I smiled thinking about her.
Sam lined up for the face-off. He glanced in my direction once and nodded to make sure I was good. I gave him a nod back because what else could I do? Bailing wasn’t an option—well, maybe it was, but I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. This felt like a hurdle I needed to get over so I could regain my confidence. If I got through this, I’d be on my way to performing at the level I needed to.
The referee stood in the middle of Sam and Westbrooke U’s center to drop the puck. As soon as it hit the ice, everything became a blur as both teams scrambled. Sam was always clear when indicating which plays he wanted to run. My execution didn’t start great, but the further we got into the period, the more my body got used to the adrenaline.
Midway through the game, I started feeling more comfortable than I’d ever been during practice. No matter how hard the body checks were or how messy the fight for the goal got, I kept control of my anxiety. Soon enough, the twisting of my stomach dulled to a barely visible ache. Unfortunately, my back couldn’t say the same. Still, I pushed through the pain. I needed this, and so did the rest of the guys on the team. We needed a win for morale and to prove that even our weakest links could be strong.
During intermission, Coach Haynes benched me. A rookie took my place while I fell into a spot next to Jack. He said nothing at first, offering me a water bottle. I took it, grateful for the cold liquid to soothe my dry throat.
“That was better,” he mumbled.
I thought he was referencing our team. My eyes were still trained on the guys in the rink. One of Westbrooke’s wing players—a fucking beast with the speed of a cheetah—almost scored. Lincoln blocked it, earning a roaring cheer from Mendell’s side of the crowd.
“Coach wasn’t expecting you to pull through like that,” Jack continued. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he spoke in a low voice. It would be near impossible to hear him over the cheering crowd and our yelling teammates unless one was sitting right next to him.
“No?” I looked at Jack now.
He grinned. There was no humor in it. “You’re a good possum player. On and off the ice.”
“Possum player?” I raised a brow, considering the label.
“You play dumb until you can’t anymore,” Jack explained with a shrug. “I like to do it, too. You think I don’t know why you were out there and not me?”
It was hard to keep my expression neutral, but I managed. So, Jack knew about the attempt to sabotage our scoring tonight? Maybe this conspiracy wasn’t as much of a well-kept secret as Sam and I thought.
“I know why.” Jack looked back on the ice.
“You going to do something about it?” I dared, wanting to make sure we were talking about the same thing.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Not now, though. You fucked up for good this time. There’s no use in making a fuss now.”
I followed his hand as he gestured toward the scoreboard. We were in the lead by three. I’d assisted on at least two of those goals.
“Timing’s everything,” Jack finished. He cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling encouragement to our teammates currently making Westbrooke’s defense work their asses off. I smiled at Jack’s words, making a note that maybe he wasn’t one hundred percent jackass. A ninety percent jackass could come in handy.
Halftheteamwentto a local bar to celebrate our unpredicted win. Naomi met me in the bar’s parking lot. She laughed when I swept her off her feet and spun her around for a hug.
“You were so good,” she gushed and waved two small Mendell flags back and forth. Her wide grin was infectious.
“He was alright, I suppose.” Lincoln slapped my back. “For a guy who could barely dribble a puck a week ago.”
I frowned at his jeering, which only made him want to continue.
“Amazing,” Naomi insisted and waved her flag in Lincoln’s face. “Everyone was! And we won!”
Henrik laughed at her enthusiasm. “Come on, first round on me. You said you like to see people drunk, right?”
She nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation. I smiled as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Naomi didn’t know what she was in for. These guys fell apart when they consumed the right amount of alcohol. The singing would start, and she’d beg it to stop.
“You heard the man! Drinks on Henrik!” Sam announced. He already had a beer in hand but shockingly didn’t yet have a girl in the other.
