“We don’t know who our starter is for the next game.” The thought is sobering. “Barrett might bring in someone else. An emergency backup. Someone from the AHL.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Would he?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s what’s killing me. “We had them. We were one game away from advancing. And now we don’t even know who’s going to be in net.”
“But Zach?—”
“Zach went in cold and gave up two goals.” I hate saying it because it’s not his fault, but it’s the truth. “Management might decide we need someone with more playoff experience. Someone who hasn’t been a backup all season.”
“That’s not fair to him.”
“None of this is fair.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “But fair doesn’t matter in the playoffs. Winning matters. And right now, I don’t know how we’re supposed to do that.”
“Anderson’s daughter grabbed my hand. During the game. After Zach went in.”
“Yeah?”
“She didn’t let go. Not until it was over.” She shifts to look up at me. “She’s terrified for him.”
“We all are.” I think about Almardon. About the pressure he’s facing. “He’s going to torture himself over those two goals. Whether he gets to play or not.”
“Maybe someone should talk to him.”
“Roman probably already tried. Though knowing Zach, he’slocked himself in his apartment and won’t open the door for anyone. He processes things alone. Always has.”
We fall silent again. Both trying to wrap our heads around how fast everything changed.
One moment we were about to advance, about to take one more step toward the Cup.
Now we’re scrambling. Reeling. Trying to figure out how to win without our starting goalie.
“Will we ever know what made Luca snap like that?”
“Maybe. If it comes out in the investigation.” I doubt it though. Whatever was said, it was said knowing it would get a reaction. “But honestly? I’m not sure I want to know. Because if I know exactly what he said, I might want to hit him too.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “How’s your face?”
“Bruised. Sore. I’ll live.” I touch the bandage gingerly. “Could’ve been worse. If Dex hadn’t grabbed my jersey when he did, I would’ve taken another hit.”
“My hero. Getting beat up trying to stop a goalie fight.”
“Someone had to try.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
“I have a black eye and we lost. So not great.” But I’m almost smiling because she’s here. Because even after the worst loss of the season, I get to come back to her. “But I’d do it again.”
“Of course you would. You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
“My idiot,” she agrees softly.
I can’t lie still anymore.
I get up and start pacing. My bedroom is too small, too confining. Everything feels like it’s closing in.
“Romeo—”
