Relief washes over me as I wind up my arm, gaining enough momentum to—
“Declan!”
I hear my name as I feel a large mass ram into my back. My stick flies out of my hands as I fly into the glass, the puck freezing just inches from the goal line.
The buzzer goes off.
I fall to the ice, and my body goes limp. I’m sure the Boston University player knocked all the oxygen out of me. I don’t know who hit me. I don’t even know where everyone is. All I can hear is that stupid fucking buzzer.
And fighting… I’m sure I hear fighting, but I can’t muster up the energy to sit up and see what’s happening.
But I don’t have to find the energy because I’m pulled onto my feet before I know it.
“You good?” Zeke pats my chest, and I groan. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you good to play?” They sit me on the bench, and Zeke squirts water in my mouth.
“I think so.” I roll my shoulders, trying to get the blood flowing through my body again. “Just got the wind knocked out of me. I’m good to go.”
“That was a dirty hit.” Jaxon drops down next to me.
“Yeah, what a douche,” Brooks agrees.
“I hate to admit it,” Jeremy begins, “it was a clean hit. The guy could’ve been a little nicer about it, though.”
We laugh because that’s something only Jeremy would say. In a sport where violence is the answer, only he’d think someone should be less violent when being violent.
“True, especially because our captain was a little distracted.” Zeke elbows me in the stomach, and I grunt because even though my breath is finally coming back to me, the hit’s still raw.
“I’m just happy Brinley convinced her to come.” I smile. “I didn’t even know they were talking again.”
“And why are you so sure that Brinley’s the one who convinced her to come?” Zeke asks, and I cock my head. “I may have gone to her place before we hit the road.”
“And she let you in?”
“I mean, look at me. Who wouldn’t?”
I roll my eyes, shoving him off the edge of the bench.
“Whoa, are you trying to injure me before overtime?” Zeke holds a hand to his chest like he’s offended. “You need me out there.”
“Who we need is Jere, but unfortunately—”
“I know, I know.” Jeremy rolls his eyes. “We’re just taking precautions because Coach wants to make sure I can play in the finals if we win this game.”
“Yeah, but what if we need you to play this game for us to play on Saturday?” Brooks asks.
“Then you guys suck ass,” he replies.
Even though we had some time to catch our breath before starting overtime, my lungs still burn with each breath as I skate from end to end.
Zeke skates up behind me as we follow number seventy-two, from Boston University, down the ice.
“You gonna steal that puck and score the game-winning goal?” he asks, skating around me.
“I’m gonna try, but it’s hard when someone’s talking my ear off instead of paying attention.” I skate away, heading toward our net, as Cam blocks a shot from their team. The puck flies out toward Zeke, who gets a head start toward the other end of the ice.
