“I’m not gonna leave you out here in the cold.”
“You promised me we weren’t going tonight. Remember, guys suck?”
“But when Tate texted me, I knew we had to come.”
She waits for me to respond, and when I don’t, she sits beside me, gently elbowing me in the ribs.
“We’re the good luck charms,” she whispers, and I roll my eyes.
“I got that.”
We may be at their away games, but Brinley and I always end up at Greystone to watch them.
“Good.” She stands back up, placing her hands on her hips. “Let’s get in there. Tate’s saving us seats.”
“What about Jaxon?” I wonder. “I thought you didn’t want to see him.”
“See, we’re both making sacrifices.”
“Brin.”
“Em, my brother is struggling tonight, and Declan doesn’t struggle. Plus, my dad is here, so if I’m not, he’s cornering Declan after the game, win or lose.”
“Maybe he’s not here tonight.”
“He’s always here.”
“Okay,” I sigh, standing up. “Only because I love you. Not because I’m worried about your brother.”
“What about your brother?” She grins. “You could be here for him. I never said you came for Declan.”
“Do you want me to come inside or not,” I say, and she chuckles, looping her arm around mine. She wasn’t kidding when she said the game was rough. The game is 5-2… and we’re losing. Both teams have been working like hell to keep the puck away from their goal, but our guys have been making a ton of shitty shots.
Before we have time to sit down, the arena erupts, alerting us to another goal. The Mustangs make it 6-2.
“We still have time,” Brinley mumbles as she pulls me to where Tate is sitting.
“There you guys are,” she says, scooting down the bench to make room. We barely have enough space to squeeze in, but we manage. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“It took like twenty minutes to get this one to walk inside.” Brin points at me. “Who’s in right now?”
“First line,” she replies. “This game has been intense; I feel like they’ve barely been off the ice.”
“The guys must be exhausted,” Brinley says. “I mean, not only are they down by four, but they’re trying to prove that—”
A whistle echoes the arena and pulls our attention to the ice. Two players are going at it—one of ours and one of theirs. They’re moving so fast that I can’t see the numbers on the back of their jerseys. And then I see it, another one of our players a few feet behind them. He’s lying on his back… but he’s not moving.
“It’s Jeremy.” Brinley jumps up to get a better view.
Our player pushes theirs against the glass as the refs try to break up the fight. The gloves come off the Mustangs player, and he knocks the helmet off our guy, and that’s when I see Declan. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. Blood runs down his face, and I can’t tell if his nose is red because he’s cold or because it’s broken. If it is broken, Declan doesn’t seem to care.
Medics rush onto the ice to Jeremy, but his body is frozen still.
“Is he okay?” I wonder.
“I don’t know,” Brinley says. “I don’t know.”
The medics pull Jeremy’s helmet off as the refs finally get the fight under control. The team surrounds Jeremy, leaving the medics enough room to work but little room for us to see what is going on.
