Someone else is yelling at the Wolves bench.
I don’t care about any of it.
I’m watching Shaw.
He’s not moving.
They form a circle around him - trainers and staff. I can’t seehim anymore. Just backs. And the bright red staining the ice beneath him.
My hands are shaking.
I look down at them. I clench them into fists and they still shake.
“Blake.”
Russo’s voice. I turn.
“He’s getting up.”
I look back.
Shaw is sitting up. Slowly and painfully. Tara’s hands are still on him, still pressing something against him, but he’s sitting up.
He’s ok. He’s alive.
They help him off the ice. Tara on one side, another trainer on the other. His skates barely touch the surface as they half-carry him toward the tunnel.
He doesn’t look back.
The arena is buzzing - confused and concerned - the game completely forgotten.
I start to follow.
Russo’s hand on my arm again.
“Game’s not over.”
“I don’t care.”
“Ninety seconds. Then you can go.”
I look at the clock.
Ninety seconds.
It might as well be a lifetime.
I don’t remember the rest of the game.
I know we won - someone tells me later, or maybe I hear the buzzer, or maybe I just see the scoreboard when I finally look up. 2–0. Shutout. Chen’s second of the season.
None of it matters.
The second the buzzer sounds, I’m off the ice with my skates and gloves still on. I don’t care.
The tunnel is empty. All I can hear is the echo of my blades against concrete.
I don’t know where they took him.
