When I get back to the bench, Callum won’t look at me. Jax is staring at the ice.
We’re falling apart.
Third period, Coach benches Jax and puts in one of the younger guys instead.
Jax doesn’t argue. He sits at the end of the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
We lose 4-1.
Worst game of the season.
The locker room after is silent. Angry. Everyone knows exactly who’s to blame.
Asher throws his pads. “What the fuck, guys?”
Nolan comments, “That was embarrassing.”
Micah adds, “We looked like a junior varsity team.”
Coach walks in and looks at each of us. “I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want to hear apologies. I want to see it fixed bynext game. Because if we play like that in playoffs, we’re done. Clear?”
“Yes, Coach.”
He leaves.
Jax is the first one out. He doesn’t shower, doesn’t talk to anyone. He just grabs his bag and goes.
Callum watches him leave.
We shower, get dressed, and head back to the hotel.
In our room, Callum throws himself on his bed. “We should call her.”
“And tell her what? That we lost because Jax is being a child?”
“She should know.”
“It’ll just make her feel worse.”
“She’s going to find out anyway.”
He’s right.
I pull out my phone and FaceTime Tiger.
She answers on the second ring. She’s in bed, hair pulled back, wearing one of my hoodies.
“Hey,” she says. Her smile fades when she sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
“We lost.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She sits up. “Bad game?”
“Really bad game.”
Callum leans into frame. “Hey, Tiger.”
“Hey, Cal. You okay?”
