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Chapter thirty-two

Raider

The game is going to start soon, but I’m not ready. Not at all. There’s this horrible feeling of impending doom, but that’s probably just the argument I’m having with Wren. Right?

Why did I say that stupid thing to him?

I look up into the crowd and smile despite myself, but in seconds, it falls as I remember everything that happened. Somewhere out there, Kit, Callan, and Ryann are hiding. We decided it was safer for them in a crowd than home alone.

I hope that was the right decision.

This is my safe place. It should be my happy place.

It isn’t. Wren has barely even looked in my direction, and he hasn’t said a word. Missing him is a throbbing ache inside me. I feel like I’m bleeding out from an open wound.

My anxiety is almost explosive. I thought I’d never see him again, but he turned up to warm up and game preparation like nothing was wrong. I was half afraid he wouldn’t. I should go over there and talk to him. My mind goes empty, though, whenever I try. I should say something, anything, to take back those words, but when I look around the ice, he’s not here. I check again, but he must still be in the locker room. He’s avoiding me. I don’t blame him. It’s been like that since we arrived a few hours ago.

I fucked up.

I flick the puck to Waraski. We go back-and-forth, skating and mentally getting ready, except this is the most unready I’ve ever been. Everything’s falling apart. I can’t focus. I miss some easy passes and go left when I should go right .

In fury at myself, I slam my stick on the ice too hard. I stare at the three pieces of my stick in shock. My skin crawls, and a whispered voice echoes in my head.

Ill omens. Unlucky. Portent of doom.

Waraski watches me with wide eyes.

“Raider, buddy, what the fuck is wrong with you? You need to get your head on straight?”

I nod, grit my teeth, and skate to the bench, grabbing another stick and chucking the pieces in the bin. I go back out and try harder. But I get even worse. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s like I’m still a kid learning how to freaking skate and hold a stick.

I look up, desperate for something, anything, to save me. My freak out is getting worse. I’m going to cost us the game. I have to do this. The team has worked too hard, but I can’t even work the puck right now.

Wren skates onto the ice and passes me. We exchange a look that makes my stomach plummet.

I swallow bile and wish the pack was here. Ryann would figure out what’s wrong with him. Callan would be the communicator and smooth over my vile words, and Kit would make everything okay.

And Wren would forgive me. I know he would, and then I’d be able to play with some kind of skill and not humiliate myself and let down the team.

I get up and skate towards the goal, nodding at Bruce. He motions to me, and I pull up to a stop, spraying ice in his direction.

Everything feels off tonight, and Bruce can feel it, too. I can see it in his movements. The entire team is picking up my vibe and side-eyeing me.

Fuck!

I’m almost hyperventilating. I don’t know how to fix this.

“What’s up?”

“Did you fight with Wren?”

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t.” The lie feels heavy on me. We’re a team, and honesty is such a huge part of our relationship. Lying is the biggest disrespect I could bestow on them, and I hate myself for it.

“He’s really angry.”

I look towards Wren and feel that chill of anxiety blast through me. He’s cold and shut off, the way he was when he first got here.

“I’ll talk to him.”

I push off and chase Wren down, but just as I get close to where he’s warming up, Foiyer and Laurels come at me, chasing a puck they are fighting over. I duck and skid to a stop again, but before I can come to a halt, my blade bites deep into the ice .

I don’t get an opportunity to save myself or even wonder. It’s sudden. I think ‘oh, shit’, and then it’s over.

I wake up on the ice, surrounded by the team.

The first thing I notice is Wren’s concerned expression, and then there’s the pain. It’s a white line of agony that spikes up my leg from my foot. What the fuck happened?

I must say it out loud because Foiyer holds me down on the ice.

“Don’t move, Raines, your blade snapped, and half of it’s embedded in the ice.” He pauses and then adds in a softer, kinder voice, “you hurt your ankle.”

“Move.”

Our physician kneels beside me and gently looks at my leg. “Right, hold him still. We’re cutting this off, and then you guys are going to carefully get him off the ice. We don’t need a stretcher.”

“It hurts, Kurt.”

Kurt looks at me with regret. “I know, Raines, but it will be over shortly. We’re going to get you out of this skate and into my room so I can get some ice on you and see how bad it is.”

I moan and shift as they cut the skate off me, but they don’t let me move. The team surrounds me, concerned and anxious. Wren backs off, standing in the circle around us watching, but not close.

I beg him silently, but he resolutely stays away. The cold of the rink has never felt so cold. I feel it to my bones.

“What the actual fuck?” Yarek hisses, his eyes snapping as he looks at my skate, still partially embedded in the ice. “Who the fuck didn’t check his blades? Look at how worn they are!”

I don’t even care.

I’m not playing. It’s over, there are several more games of the season, but I know this is a bad injury. I can feel it.

“Raider,” Wren whispers. His face is pale, and his eyes are wide as the guys hoist me up.

Wren inhales, and a look of confusion crosses his face, but then it clears, and he nods.

“Win tonight. For us,” I murmur. “Then, let’s talk.”

I bite back my groans as they get me up. They carry me effortlessly to the edge of the rink where Wesley helps me into a seat. Carried off the ice by my team, the crowd screaming my name, it all suddenly hammers home. I know this is it for me .

They take off my other skate as I watch the team start moving again. The crowd chants my name until it ebbs, and there is nothing left but a dull roar. I am forgotten already.

Someone puts a slide on my foot, and then I’m being hoisted up, and Wesley is supporting my weight and helping me down to the treatment room.

Bitterness wells up, threatening to choke me. I might lose Wren and the game I love tonight.

And I still haven’t saved Ryann.

As I carefully hobble to the treatment room being supported by Wesley, I find for the first time in a long time I want to call my dad.

“You’ll be okay, Raider. You’ll be back on the ice in no time,” Wesley says sympathetically. “We’ll get you fixed up and back for next season.”

We both know he’s just saying it. My career was waning. We all knew this was my swan song.

This is not how I wanted to end my career. Not with an injury in warm up. I wanted to skate with Wren just one more time. I wanted to play with him with bonds.

I choke up, but Wesley looks away, kindly giving me a moment to have my emotions.

“Fuck!” I whisper. “Just fuck.”