I swallow hard, forcing down emotions I have kept buried for far too long.
We are not done yet.
“Let’s finish this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
ELLIOT
Well,that was the closest I’ve ever come to vomiting during a hockey game. And Shawn once dragged me to a game at the height of my pregnancy sickness.
Playoff hockey is stressful on a completely different level. Every penalty feels catastrophic. Every goal feels like it’s the only thing that matters. There is no margin for error, no room to breathe, just constant pressure grinding down everyone involved.
Watching Austin go down and stay down stole years off my life.
Watching Arthur’s reaction to him go down? That might haunt me forever.
Fear. Rage. Hurt. Regret. It all crossed his face in the smallest, most controlled microexpressions. To anyone else, it would look like a coach doing his job, concerned but composed. But I know that man. Studying his face is my favourite pastime. In those seconds before Austin got back up, Arthur was not just worried.
He was in agony.
Austin stayed on the bench for the remainder of the game.Even without him, the Otters found a way. Noah Watts scored the winning goal with less than a minute left in regulation time.
The Otters now lead the series three to one.
I waited with the rest of the training staff and physios, standing by. Most nights we’re not needed once the game ends, but we stay anyway. Just in case. Tomorrow we will treat bruises, strains, sore backs, and the invisible aches that come with playoff hockey.
Rose finds me briefly and confirms what I hoped to hear. Austin is fine. The impact knocked the wind out of him, scared everyone half to death, but once his breathing settled, there was no lasting damage.
Arthur disappears down the tunnel with his team after the win. I don’t see him again before we’re cleared to board the bus back to the hotel. Not that I expected to. Coaches rarely linger.
Still, I had hoped. Just a glimpse. Just to make sure he was okay too.
I call Sam on the drive back to the hotel. I’m not surprised when he immediately launches into a rapid-fire interrogation about Austin, and I do my best to answer every question. Despite his obvious concern for a hockey player who has been incredibly kind to him over the last six months, Sam sounds good. Happy. Grounded. He gives me a quick update on school, mentions a spelling test, and promises that he and Rhett are not playing too many video games, which tells me they absolutely are.
After the exhausting, high tension game, hearing his voice is therapeutic. If Austin’s near miss shaved years off my life, Sam just handed them back to me one by one.
It’s after ten when I finally get back to my room, though it feels earlier. Even though we’ve only been here two days, they’ve been long days, stretching in a way they never seem toat home. Everything feels slightly suspended, like time runs differently when you’re away.
I change out of the Otters branded athletic gear the staff wear during games and pull on soft linen shorts and a navy cotton sweater. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I look like I’m about to board a sailboat. I consider changing, then remember I packed light and didn’t give myself many options.
Arthur said he would text when he got back to his room, so I sit on the edge of the bed and wait. I scroll mindlessly through videos to pass the time. My feed is already flooded with highlights from the game. Foster’s impossible save. Austin’s goal. Austin hitting the ice.
Eventually I can’t watch that part anymore. I close the app and open my messages instead.
Nothing from Arthur yet.
It’s almost eleven.
He should be back by now.
Elliot: Back yet?
My phone tells me he reads the text almost immediately.
No reply.
I give it a minute. Then another. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until my patience finally snaps.
