I get up.
From across the ice, I hear Zane yell something at the ref. The ref ignores him.
The Wolves’ center skates past me after one particularly ugly hit near their bench. He leans close.
“Keep getting up, little man.”
I don’t respond.
But I feel it - the weight of every hit, every cheap shot, every moment they’ve spent trying to break me. My ribs are on fire.
And there’s still a whole period left.
Between periods, I go back to my little physio room.
Tara comes to see me.
“How bad?”
“I’m fine.”
“Leo.”
“I’m fine.”
“They’re targeting you. Maybe you should stay off the rest of the game.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“Then you need to adjust. You can’t keep letting them hit you like that.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Tara squeezes my shoulder gently.
“You can survive this. You can win.”
I nod.
She heads back to the main locker room to check on the others.
I sit there, breathing, trying to find the calm I need.
ZANE
Between periods, I find Russo by the water cooler.
“They’re headhunting Shaw.”
Russo nods. “I see it.”
“The refs aren’t calling shit.” I shake my head, frustration burning in my chest. “He’s on our line. I need him out there - not in pieces.”
Russo nods. Doesn’t push.
But I catch the look on his face.
LEONORA
