I dutifully follow behind her, all the way to the ledge.
Chapter Fourteen
Rowan
“You ready?” Luka asks as he skates up beside me.
We have four more games in the regular season, and the outcome of these last couple of games will determine if we make it to the semifinals. Tonight’s game is up against Wyatt’s old team, the Wolverines, and our biggest rivals, the team we will most likely face in the semifinals and, hopefully, the championship game.
I feel jittery and off-kilter, but it’s nothing new. I’ve felt that way all season. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Luka skates forward so he’s in front of me. We’re all on the ice doing our warmups before the game starts in fifteen minutes.
“You’re supposed to say,hell yeah, I’m ready!”
I halfheartedly lift the corner of my mouth. “Hell yeah, I’m ready," I mimic with less enthusiasm.
“I’m serious, brother.”
“I know you are," I scoff. “Why do I feel like we constantly have this conversation? I don’t know how else to tell you I’m fine.”
“I guess we’ll keep having it until you stop lying to me.”
Damn, that one hurts.He grabs me around my shoulder and pulls me towards him, tapping his helmet on mine. “You got this.”
I grab him behind his neck and give him one quick squeeze before I let go. “Wegot this.”
A horn blares, signaling that the warmup is over. I take a deep breath. I feel a buzzing deep in my chest from anticipation, but underneath that is the new but ever-present swarm of uneasiness in my stomach. Nerves. I never used to get nervous; skating has been a part of my life since I could walk. My skates and my gear used to feel like a second skin, but now they feel almost foreign.
I close my eyes and repeat what my therapist told me to when I feel out of control. I don’t think it’s helping, but I’ve said it before every game. At this point, it’s just become part of my ritual.I accept this feeling, for it is only temporary.
I try to center myself as best I can. The echoes of the crowd’s chants reverberate through my ears. The sound of them banging on the plexiglass hums through my chest.
When I open my eyes, I feel the most focused I have since the accident. I desperately reach out to try to hold onto that feeling with everything I have. I’m met with a chorus of shouts as soon as I near the player’s bench. It’s time for the show. I throw on an easy smile and raise both hands in the air, my voice deep and loud when I sayfight, fight, fightto get the boys even more excited.
The guys follow suit, and before long, everyone is ready to get out on the ice and pummel our opponents. The other team startsout swinging from the moment the puck drops, and they don’t stop until the whistle is called for our first intermission.
I’m out of breath, my chest tight with exhaustion, and we still have two more periods to play, and the other team is up by two.
“What kind of fucking Wheaties did they eat tonight?” Beau asks as he skates up, seemingly just as out of breath as me.
I tip my helmet back and squirt water directly into my mouth, welcoming the ice-cold liquid to help cool my body temperature. “Fuck if I know, but we better find our own Wheaties real quick,” I answer, pissed and feeling even more frustrated than I did before the start of the game. Whatever relief or sense of focus I had evaporated as soon as I lost the faceoff, flubbing it when I was a millisecond slower than the other captain. We’ve been trying to play catch-up since then.
“Fuck if I don’t know it.”
We both make our way over to the bench where coach is already pacing back and forth. I brace for my ass chewing because I know it’s coming. Coach may be a quiet man, but he doesn’t mince his words, and when he’s pissed, he’sreally pissed.
“Pierce!” Right on cue, Coach comes up and leans down into my face. “You planning on pulling your head out of your ass anytime soon?! Or do I need to pull you from the game?!” he practically spits.
I visibly wince from the verbal gut punch. I’ve never been pulled from a game before, and I sure as shit am not starting now. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Yes, sir I need to pull you? Or yes, sir I’m going to start playing hockey like I actually know what the hell I’m doing?! Which is it, Pierce?” he seethes.
Damn, he’s mad. “Yes, sir. I’ll pull my head out of my ass, sir," I answer, thoroughly and properly chastised.
“You freaking better!” He turns and faces the boys. “If all of you don’t get your shit together, we can kiss the championship goodbye.”
The boys hang their heads in shame. Guilt starts to take up residence deep in my core. I haven’t been a hundred percent in months, slack that my team, the team I’m supposed to be leading, has had to make up for. It’s not fair to them, but I don’t know how to fix it. If I did, I would have done so already.
