“The crease?”
She points to the shaded area in front of the goal. “There.”
“Ah,” I say. “Okay.”
“You hate this, don’t you,” she says with a teasing grin.
I make a noncommittal gesture. “I don’thateit.”
She eyes me with one brow lifted.
“I’m just not much of a sports girl,” I say with another laugh.
“Blasphemy,” she tuts.
“Tell me what’s happening now,” I say.
“See Sanchez?” She points to one of the players. “He’s got the puck. He’s trying to get it into the other team’s goal.”
“Well, I knew that much.”
“They’re forcing him into the corner,” she narrates. “Now they’re battling.”
I watch as Sanchez maneuvers his stick to try to win back the puck that the other team’s player is trying to swipe away from him.
“Now Jack is coming up, he’s going to try to snag it,” Lila tells me.
I can’t help but let my gaze wander to him then—just making out the shaggy ends of his hair that peek out of the edge of his helmet. Even from here I can see the look of fierce determination on his face. He looks so serious, so much more than he usually is.
As I watch, one of the opposing players swings around toward him, and Lila stands again, starting to yell, and all of a sudden that same player slams into Jack, pushing him into the boards roughly. Lila is shouting even louder as another player crashes into them, nearly forming a full-on pileup as the corner of the rink becomes crowded with a mass of bodies.
“Penalty,” Lila yells. “Penalty!”
She’s still standing when the players start to move away from the corner, and it’s only when they’ve skated away that it becomes clear that Jack is down, lying on his side on the ice as a flurry of activity ensues. I notice Ian skating over and kneeling next to him, the ref not far behind as they check him over.
“What’s happened?” I ask. “Is he okay?”
Lila doesn’t answer, watching on with a concerned expression as she starts to move past me in the aisle to get closer to the edge of the rink. I follow after her without thinking—but there are people already helping Jack from the ground, even though it’s clear he isn’t okay. There’s a grimace of pain in his features, and Ian is helping to support his weight by letting Jack brace himself against his shoulder.
He’s cradling his arm—the one he broke not so long ago—holding it closer to his chest as he and Ian maneuver off the ice. The ref has already called a time-out, and fans all around us are standing now, everyone watching to see if Jack is okay.
Lila takes off toward the Druids’ bench, where Jack and Ian have just exited. I push my way through the crowd to follow, both of us reaching them just in time to hear the grunts of Jack’s pain and Ian’s soothing voice.
“You’re okay, bud,” Ian is saying. “You’ll be okay.”
“It fucking hurts,” Jack groans, his voice taking on a panicked edge. “Is it broken again? It can’t be broken again. I can’t fucking miss out again.”
“We’re gonna get you to the hospital, Jack,” Ian tells him. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Ian spots Lila and me then, waving us over.
“He landed on his bad arm,” Ian tells Lila. “They’re gonna take him to the hospital to get an X-ray. Can you ride with him?”
“Obviously,” Lila says breathlessly.
Ian nods. “I can meet you there.”
“No,” Jack says. “Finish the game. They need you.”
