“They arepissed,” Logan said, nodding toward the Washington bench.
Some of the guys were still on the ice, shouting at the Bigfoots as August returned to the bench to wait. There was only a minute left on the clock, and Callahan was going back out, so he didn’t need to overexert himself now that they had a nice lead.
“Snow, need you out there,” shouted Fedorov. “Defence—don’t give up our points. Dawson is fighting his skate, and you’re our best guy.”
August nodded and took a drink before hopping the wall.
So much for not overexerting himself.
“Dawson?” Callahan asked as August joined him at the centerline.
“Technical difficulties,” said August, grinning. “He sends his love.”
Callahan snorted and moved to take the face-off against the Washington captain—Ivan Kuznetsov.
The fans were loud, and the music was still playing, but August heard the words clearly as they left Kuznetsov’s smirking mouth.
“Callahan, how is your wife?”
Somehow, Callahan was able to react when the puck hit the ice, most likely out of instinct. He lost the battle but was right behind Kuznetsov as he sprinted in August’s direction.
Heart pounding, August blocked Kuznetsov as much as he could without drawing a penalty, knowing he had a job to do. But it wasso fucking hardwhen all he wanted was to lock eyes with Callahan and make sure he was okay, because that was a low-blow, even for an opposing team.
August slowed Kuznetsov enough that Callahan caught him, trying his best to strip the puck before Washington could take a shot at Haas in the net.
“Get off!” Kuznetsov snarled, and then his elbow came up as he made a spinning pass, and the blow clipped Callahan hard enough to knock his helmet off and send it skittering across the ice.
Callahan should have bolted for the bench once it disappeared in the melee, but he didn’t.
August was there to take away the shot, angling his body and reaching with his stick as the Washington defenseman drew back to wind up, and in that split second, August understood what was about to happen.
The space, the opening, and the path the puck would take—
The crack of stick against rubber was nothing compared to the thud of impact when the puck struck Callahan’s unprotected head.
August shouted, horror and panic seizing him as Eren’s arms folded tight to his body, and he crumpled, collapsing in a way that made August’s stomach drop.
No.
No. No.
No—no—no—
August didn’t hear the screaming. He didn’t see the fight break out.
He didn’t even notice the blood that was pooling on the ice as both benches emptied, throwing the world into chaos.
August’s body moved on its own, his knee burning from twisting it at a weird angle as he raced to Callahan’s side and threw himself on top of him. He covered their heads as players from both teams wearing sharp blades, shoved each other, coming dangerously close to where August was shielding him on the ice.
Eren was twitching under him in a way that didn’t feel right. August didn’t know what to do, but all he could focus on was keeping Eren safe until the medical team arrived.
And that took seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
August wasn’t counting. He wasn’t breathing. His only purpose in that moment was to keep his captain safe—
