“Fuck, it hurts.”
“Think you can keep going?”
“Just need a minute.” I nod.
I breathe through the pain as the door to the bench swings open.
“Cash, tell me how you’re feeling,” the trainer asks.
“Can’t say I’ve felt this good in a while.” I grimace, my joke falling flat as I try to suck in a deep breath.
“We’re going to take you back for some X-rays to see if anything is broken.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I can play through it.”
“Get checked out. I don’t want you to hurt yourself any more,” Coach Barney tells me. “We need you out there.”
“Fine,” I grumble.
The trainer helps me back to the locker room as the crowd starts to clap for me.
I don’t want their applause right now. All I want is to get taped up to get back on the ice. Boston is too dominant of a team to let them get another goal on us. Hopefully with the power play, we’ll be able to close the gap.
The trainer helps me with my pads. Even lifting my jersey up and over my head hurts my side.
“Pretty gnarly bruise forming here,” he tells me.
“Gnarly? Is that your official assessment?” I ask as I get situated on the table.
I look down, seeing a purple and black bruise blossoming on my side. Unless a damn rib is poking out of me, I’m getting back on that ice tonight.
I try to take small, even breaths to calm down as themachine does what it’s supposed to. I hate that I’m in here and not out on the ice helping my team.
“Alright, Cash. Nothing is broken.”
“Thank fuck.” I blow out a breath. “Tape me. I need to get back out there.”
“You need to be careful.” He pierces me with a fierce look. “I mean it. Don’t go out there gunning to hit anyone.”
“I won’t.”
He makes quick work of taping me up and helping me get back into my pads and jersey. I pop a few ibuprofen he hands me before heading back toward the ice.
The cheers that hit my ears as I get closer can only mean one thing. By the time I find my place, we’ve tied the game up.
Thank fuck.
“You good?” Noah asks, leaning over a few of our teammates.
“Ready to get back out there.”
“Good man.” Coach Barney claps me on the shoulder from behind.
I’m only in the game for a few minutes this period. Boston does their best to try and get another goal, but we’re playing with a strength that was missing in the first period.
The rest of the period runs out and we’re in the final intermission. I slink into the locker room and collapse into my stall.
“You think you have one more period in you?” Troy asks, standing above me.
