Page 78

The stands on the home side are loud in a way hockey never is. There’s more paint for sure. And more naked men from the waist up. I find a spot on the aisle, near the front, so I can leave if my chest constricts again. Down on the field, I pick Luke out by the way he moves, even though the number on his back and chest would give it away. I’ve always been able to find him. Will’s a brick house next to him. And Ty’s bouncing on his toes next to the bench.

I cup my hands. “Don’t suck!”

Luke flips me off without looking. That’s how I know he heard me.

I last almost three full quarters before I stop pretending I’m fine. Every time the student section screams, I think about how Quinn would hate being in this crowd. And how I tried to make the last month disappear by asking him about a stupid test. I miss a whole play because I’m staring at my hands.

Then the noise changes.

Not a cheer. A gasp. The kind that sucks the air out of a room.

I stand up before I know why. Bodies on the twenty yard line. A pile that isn’t getting up. Will’s helmet is off. Ty is down on one knee. And Luke is on the turf in a way I’ve never seen him, not even after the worst hits, almost looking like someone unplugged him.

“Get up,” I say, useless, to nobody.

Trainers are already sprinting out onto the field. The quarterback’s hands are on his head. A coach I barely register goes onto the field, dropping down next to Luke. I don’t care about the coach. I care about Luke not moving, and then moving too little to be okay, and the way Will looks toward the stands as though he’s hunting for a face that can tell him this is fine.

It’s not fine.

They get him onto the cart. I’m already out of my seat, shoving past people at the railing who want to film it. By the time I hit the rail by the tunnel, all I can see is a white sheet draped over him, and his hand hanging off the edge of the tiny bed.

I text our group chat, not that any of them will answer me. They probably don’t even have their phones. Shit. This is worse than my problems.

I follow the ambulance with my eyes until it turns out of the lot. Then I happen upon a jersey chaser in the parking lot—same species as a puck bunny, only the single requirement for their attention is wearing any jersey—and I put on a smile that normally gets people to say yes.

“Hey. I know this is random. My friend’s in that ambulance and I don’t have a car here. Any chance you’re going toward the hospital?”

She looks me up and down, then at the empty space where the lights just disappeared. “You’re on the hockey team. I watch you play. Daniel, right?”

“That’s me. Daniel. I’ll pay for gas. We can even grab a beer sometime.”

She sighs like I'm inconvenient, but she’s already walking toward a Civic. “Get in.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

I buckle up and pull out my phone to text Quinn to let him know I won’t be back a for a while. Then I slowly delete it without sending it.

The girl glances over. “Girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “Roommate.”

“Uh-huh.”

I don’t bother elaborating, it’s not a story I am going to share with a stranger. We got to the hospital shortly after the ambulance, thanks to the girl's lead foot. I hop out with a quick thank you and hand her a twenty.

She lifts a brow but takes it, before leaving me standing at the emergency room entrance.

The hospital at one in the morning is a ghost town of vending machines and that sour-clean smell. Ty is asleep in a chair with his mouth open. Will is pacing a hole into the floor. They let the three of us in because we told them we were family and they didn’t make us prove it.

Luke looks smaller in the bed than he has any right to. Bruised. Wired to a bunch of machines. And awake enough to scowl at me.

“If you cry, I will end you,” he rasps.

“Please. I only cry at rom-coms.” I drop into the chair Ty isn’t using and poke the toe of my sneaker against the frame. “You looked like a sack of laundry out there. Very original. Ten out of ten. Do it again and I will kill you myself.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Good. That’s what I’m here for.

I steal a Jell-O cup off the tray because that’s what friends do, and because if my hands are busy I won’t look at my phone as if Quinn is going to suddenly start texting me because I didn’t come back to the dorm. He’s probably asleep or still writing his paper.