He blames me for Kellan’s death. How he found out was fucking horrible, and I do feel bad for my brother, but how he got it in his head that it was me that killed Kellan is a fucking mystery. I shoot my brother a scathing look, telling him without words that I’m up to the challenge of taking him down.
The national anthem plays and I force myself to stand, to place my hand over my heart, to act normal even though everything inside me is screaming.
Our team lines up on the blue line and I notice Xaden isn't in the starting lineup. He would have been if he wasn’t banned from playing because of the fight at the last game.
He's on the bench, fully geared up, which almost seems cruel. To make him wear the uniform, knowing he can’t play is a new level of harshness.
He's their best player. Everyone knows it. But, after the fight from the last game, he’s not able to take the ice as a player.
The anthem ends and the crowd erupts. The ref drops the puck.
The game begins.
And it's brutal.
From the very first face-off, both teams are going at each other like they're trying to kill rather than score. Bodies slam into boards with sickening force. Sticks clash. The crowd is on their feet screaming.
This isn't just a hockey game.
This is a war.
Somerset scores first, a wrist shot that slips past our goalie's glove and their side of the rink explodes with celebration. I glance toward our bench and see Xaden lean forward, gripping his stick so hard I'm surprised it doesn't snap.
But Coach can’t put him in.
Our team answers back five minutes later, tying it up 1-1, and the energy in the building is absolutely electric.
I try to focus on the game, try to lose myself in the action, but I can feel eyes on me constantly. Students from both schools. Parents. Scouts. Everyone is trying to figure out what the hell Toren Kellar is doing sitting rink-side in Xaden Devlin's jersey.
And Masen. God, Masen keeps looking over at me every chance he gets. I can see how distracted he is, how unfocused. He's playing angry, taking stupid penalties, making careless mistakes.
Because of me.
He’s playing into Xaden’s hand exactly like he knew he would. Masen and I may be at odds but we still share blood, and the fact I dare to sit rinkside in his enemy’s jersey while his fans watch is bruising his ego.
The second period is somehow even more vicious than the first. Somerset scores again, taking the lead 2-1, and I watch our team's frustration mount with every failed attempt to tie it back up.
Harper leans close. “He must be so pissed.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, feeling bad he has to ride the bench.
The third period starts and Somerset comes out flying. They're hungry, confident, playing like they've already won.
Halfway through, they score again.
3-1.
The crowd's energy shifts, our side deflating, their side growing more raucous. People around us are starting to give up, sitting down, accepting defeat.
Then Brady takes a stupid penalty in frustration, cross-checking a Somerset player into the boards and suddenly we're down a man.
Power play for Somerset.
“This is bad,” Harper mutters.
She's right. This could be the final nail in the coffin. If Somerset scores on this power play, the game is effectively over.
I watch our penalty kill scramble, desperate to hold the line. Somerset passes the puck around our zone like they own it, taking their time, waiting for the perfect shot.
