I'm not aware of the people next to me anymore.
I'm not aware of the score.
I'm only aware of the way he's still on the ice.
The trainer skates out.
Mason hovers.
Gabriel pushes up to his knees.
Then to his skates.
The arena erupts in applause.
I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
He skates to the bench. Slow. Controlled. Stubborn.
He doesn't look at the stands.
He looks straight ahead.
***
The third period is tight.
One goal game and the Outlaws are ahead.
Mason and Gabriel are both double shifting now. Heavy minutes. The kind that leaves bruises that bloom tomorrow.
With two minutes left, the other team pulls their goalie.
Six skaters.
Chaos.
The puck ricochets off a skate. Mason dives to clear it along the boards. Gabriel pins a forward against the glass long enough for support to arrive.
Bodies collide. Sticks clash. The horn finally sounds.
Win!
The crowd stands.
I clap because everyone else is clapping.
But my chest feels tight. Not from excitement. From something else.
From the fact that when he went down, I forgot to breathe.
The players line up. Helmets off. Sticks raised.
Gabriel skates a slow circle near center ice.
Then he looks up.
Not toward the bench.
