“Then act like it,” Callum snaps.
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you. You’re the one being a crybaby asshole.”
Jax takes a step toward him. I step between them.
“Not here,” I say firmly. “Not now.”
“Get out of my way, Zeff.”
“No.”
Jax’s fists clench. For a second, I think he might actually swing. Then he grabs his bag and walks out.
Callum punches his locker. “Goddammit.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“When? Because we play in four hours and he’s acting like we don’t exist.”
I don’t have an answer.
The game starts at four.
Arizona State comes out fast. Aggressive. Physical.
First shift, Micah wins the faceoff. Passes to Jax. Jax drives up the right wing. Callum’s open in the slot.
Jax shoots instead. Wide. Misses the net completely.
Second shift, same thing. Callum open. Jax shoots.
Blocked.
Third shift, I try to set up a play from the back. Pass to Jax. He’s supposed to pass to Callum who’ll one-time it.
Jax holds it too long, tries to go himself, and loses the puck.
Arizona scores on the counter.
1-0.
On the bench, Callum throws his stick. “What the fuck was that?”
Jax doesn’t respond.
Coach glares at all of us but says nothing.
Second period is worse.
Arizona scores again. Then again.
3-0.
I take a stupid penalty. Hooking. Out of frustration. Two minutes in the box watching them score on the power play.
4-0.
