Page 130 of Offside Angle

“The thing where one bad hockey game becomes the fucking apocalypse in your head.”

Normally that would earn me something sarcastic. This time, he only drags in another breath that stops somewhere high in his chest.

Yeah. Not good.

I move closer and lower my voice while the rest of the team passes around us. “Look at me, Eli.”

He tries, but his eyes flick toward the locker room almost immediately.

I tighten my hand around his arm just enough to pull his attention back. “No. Here.”

His gaze finds mine again.

“This isn’t last year,” I tell him. “Damian isn’t in a hospital. He’s twenty feet away, probably getting ready to yell at all of us for playing like assholes. Shane’s here. I’m here. Cole’s here. You are not carrying this team by yourself.”

His mouth tightens, and I watch him try to swallow whatever is climbing up his throat.

“We’re down two goals,” I continue. “That sucks. I’m personally offended by it. But that’s all it is.”

Elias closes his eyes for a moment and forces a slower breath through his nose. It shakes on the way out, and when he opens them again, one tear has escaped down his cheek.

He doesn’t wipe it away.

“Hey.” I keep my voice steady. “Stay here with me.”

He nods once.

“We’re in Vancouver. Second intermission. Damian is alive and being his usual charming self. Nobody needs you to save us from anything except maybe our shitty defensive decisions.”

That gets the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Good.

I squeeze his arm.

“It’s hockey, Eli. You’re allowed to be pissed. You’re allowed to hate the score. But don’t make tonight answer for what happened last year.”

Elias holds my gaze for a long second, then exhales slowly. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He nods once more, firmer this time, and reaches up to scrub a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Okay.”

I clap him once on the shoulder and keep walking toward the locker room. Behind me, I hear him take another deep breath.

The third period gets ugly fast.

Vanguard scores again early on a clean breakaway, their winger getting behind us with enough space that Shane never has much of a chance.

4–1.

The building erupts, and our bench goes dead quiet for half a second.

Then Elias snaps.

“What the fuck are we doing out there?”

One of the rookies has barely made it over the boards before Elias is on him.

“You’re soft. All of you are playing fucking soft. Move your feet!”

The kid freezes, clearly unsure whether he’s supposed to sit down or apologize for existing. Nico flinches beside him, Jace drops his eyes toward the floor, and even Cole turns his head with his jaw set.