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twenty-five

T he crowd is nuts tonight. Class is out all week with Thanksgiving in two days, but you wouldn’t know it. Not with the crowd that has shown up to cheer on the Wolves.

It doesn’t hurt that this team is one of their main rivals and also happens to be the team that hurt Beckett last year. The Garrison Ravens have no idea the storm is coming their way. These guys have been gearing up to take them down a notch or two.

As the guys come out on the ice, I can’t help but feel the buzz in the air. Kellan turns toward us as he always does, blowing me a kiss. I catch it and hold it to my heart.

It’s become our own little pregame ritual. He admitted to me that during the away games I can’t come to, he feels off because I’m not there to do it with him. Athletes are a superstitious bunch.

I won’t lie, though. Feels good to know that I can do something to make him feel better about his game. He’s especially nervous going into this one. He wants to win, but not for himself. He has grown so close to the guys that he wants to win for Beckett. He hates that they got away with the cheap shot on him last year.

I don’t blame him. I remember Clay being a complete terror after that game. He ranted and raved about the asshole who did it when he called to tell us about it.

“They better not play dirty this year. I will shank a bitch,” Peyton mutters to me.

“Upset that Beckett got hurt, huh? Seems like you care more than you let on,” I joke, nudging her.

“Oh, she does. Sometimes I come home and find her hanging out in the living room with him.” Grace winks at Peyton.

“Once. You saw that once. I was waiting for you to get home because someone wanted some alone time in our room.” Peyton gives me a pointed look.

I shrug. I can’t deny it. It’s not often, but I have asked her twice now if she could maybe take a little longer to come home so I could have some sexy time with Kellan. If I don’t we would never get any time to ourselves. Next year, I really need to get an apartment. In fact…

“Grace, what are you doing for living arrangements next year? The hockey house will be off the table, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m not sure. I haven’t even started to think about it because if I do, then I start to think about the fact that Clay will be drafted, and he might end up somewhere far away from here. That makes my heart ache, so yeah, I have been playing ostrich.”

“Can’t bury your head in the sand forever, but you still have time. I was thinking, if you stay here, want to get an apartment together? You too, Peyton.”

Peyton bites her lip. “I don’t know if I can afford it. It’s why I stayed in the dorms this year.”

“I’m in. I don’t want to move back to the dorms and have to get another roommate. I would never dream of stealing Peyton from you. Could we maybe look into it, Peyton? Figure out if there is anything that might work?”

“No promises, but yeah. I’d be willing to look into it with you guys,” she says.

Before we can keep talking about it, the announcer comes on, and I clap my hands as they announce the players. I don’t even boo when they announce the other team. I behave myself.

“Holy shit,” Grace mutters.

“What?” I turn to her, but she’s staring at some guy posted up near the bench.

“That’s Brantley Gibson. He owns the Boston Foxes.” Grace looks pale as she looks at him.

“Uh, do we need to do something? You look like you are going to faint.” Peyton helps Grace sit as her hand comes up to her mouth.

“Fuck, we knew they were sending a scout to see Clay play, but that’s not a scout. He owns the team. They must be serious about him, right?” Grace asks.

I look the guy up on my phone real quick. I confirm it is the guy she is referring to.

Then I see the articles.

Boston Foxes fire another key staff member amid cheating rumors.

Boston Foxes looking to ramp up their draft picks after a poor season.

Boston Foxes to have the first draft pick.

“Well fuck,” I mutter.

“What? What is it?” Grace looks at me as we stand for the national anthem.

We pause our conversation, singing proudly. As soon as it’s over, we sit, and I turn to her.

“Seems they have had staffing changes. They did so poorly last season that they are getting the first draft pick. There’s a good chance that’s why he’s here. He isn’t leaving it to chance. He wants to see for himself.”

We all stare down at the man who is intently watching the guys get ready on the ice.

“Boston would be perfect,” Peyton singsongs.

“I don’t want him in Boston just because of me. I want him on the team that is best for him. You said they were doing poorly?”

“They did last year, but it seems that man down there is willing to make changes so that doesn’t happen this year. Could be a good thing for him. He will likely get to play right away at Boston. If he went to say Seattle, where they won last year, he might be riding the bench for a while,” I tell her.

She nods. “Okay, so this is good.” Then she stands, clapping her hands. “Let’s go Wolves.”

I stand, slipping my phone in my pocket. “Yes, let’s go Wolves. Kick some ass!” I scream out.

As the game starts, I focus on the ice. Kellan is out first, skating down the ice like his life depends on it. I watch as the puck flies across the ice from stick to stick. It’s a fight, but after a minute or so, the line changes, bringing Clay out instead.

He is a beast on the ice. He attacks the puck, getting it down to the other end of the rink. He takes a shot, but it’s deflected at the last minute.

This goes on and on as both teams fight for the win, but neither are successful.

I start praying internally for them to score at least once. Get ahead any way possible.

As if the Lord is listening, Kellan and Clay end up on the ice together.

It’s like watching two people who move as one work together. They are so in tune with each other that when Clay flings the puck back to Kellan, he is right where he needs to be to catch it and shoot it right back at Clay.

Clay then takes the puck, sending it into the net, causing the horn to go off.

We cheer like crazy as I watch the two men in my life embrace over their shot. I smile even bigger when they announce Clay with the goal and Kellan with the assist.

It’s almost the end of the first period when one of the Ravens players takes a shot at Kellan, pushing him into the wall.

He falls to the ice but gets back up quickly. I notice how he rubs over his chest. It’s a telling sign for him. He’s feeling anxious. I know the hit didn’t hurt him with all the pads. At least, I hope it didn’t.

My own nerves surface as the end of the first period comes.

“Want anything?” Peyton asks, indicating she’s headed up to the concessions.

I shake my head, keeping my eye on Kellan.

He looks up to me and gives me a small smile before focusing back on the group.

That smile doesn’t ease my concerns.

By the time the second period starts, I’m on the edge of my seat.

At first, it starts off fine. The guys are playing hard. There are more hits between the teams, making me flinch as I hear the contact.

Then it happens.

Kellan is flying down the ice when one of the Ravens checks him into the glass. This time it is so hard, it sounds like the glass might break at the impact. The player skates away, leaving Kellan in place, only Kellan doesn’t move. His hand is on his chest once more as he collapses to his knees. Then he is face down on the ice.

I scream. “Kellan!”

* * *

“James, the owner of the Boston Foxes, is here, so be on top of your game. Got it?” Coach calls out to him.

Clay nods before we head out onto the ice to warm up. I blow my pregame kiss to Cora before taking up the spot next to him.

“Does having him here make you nervous?” I ask.

“Of course, but I put it out of my head. It doesn’t matter that he is here. I need to play my best as always,” Clay tells me.

Looking up, I spot Brantley Gibson. My body tenses as I think about the man standing on the other side of the glass. “He’s not even here for me, and I’m nervous,” I admit.

“He’s a human like you or me. He’s here to watch us play, sure, but we need to win this for us. Try to shake it off.” He finishes his warm-up, skating around to check on the other guys.

I finish mine as well, but the tension doesn’t fade. If anything, it gets worse.

I rub my chest, heading toward the bench.

“You got heartburn, kid?” Coach asks me.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Nerves. It’ll pass.”

He nods, watching the rest of the guys skate over.

After they’ve announced us and done the national anthem, the game is ready to start. I’m out first.

I’m pushing myself hard. Harder than ever before, needing to look good. Not for me, but for Clay. I want to make our team look better so that he gets a shot at being drafted.

Line change comes, and I watch Clay skate out and attempt to make something out of chicken shit. It doesn’t work for him either.

Back and forth we go, playing hard. I can tell the moment things change for the Ravens, though. They start to play a bit dirty. The refs don’t catch the occasional tripping or the way they hit us into the boards extra hard, but I do.

Coach finally puts me and Clay on the ice together, and that’s when the magic happens. We fly down the ice like we’ve done this a million times. When he passes the puck back to me without looking, I’m ready to catch it only to send it right back to him. He sends it into the net, bringing a smile to my face.

We’ve got this.

After celebrating a moment, we get back in the zone. We push harder, fighting for every inch we can get from these guys.

Then one player targets me, pushing me into the wall, and it jolts me. My ear rings for a moment with the impact, but I’m able to stay on my feet. The slight moment of confusion scares me. I’ve never had that happen before. I rub my chest as it grows tighter. My breathing comes a little faster, but I try to keep it under control.

“You’ve got this, Kellan,” I mutter to myself.

The end of the first period brings me some relief.

“You okay?” Clay asks as I come off the ice.

“Yeah, that hit was just a bit hard,” I mutter.

“I saw that. Fucker needs to watch himself,” Beckett says, putting his arm around me.

“Okay guys, this is going well. We are ahead, and we need to stay that way. We want to score, but we also need to defend. I’m proud of the effort you are putting into this. Go out and show them we have so much more to give them,” Coach calls out.

Just like that, we are back on the ice.

We keep going round and round with these guys, but they are getting more brutal. Every time one of them comes near me, I can’t help but flinch. It’s like my body is preparing for another hard hit.

No amount of preparation would have helped me, though.

As the Ravens player checks me into the glass, my teeth rattle. I feel like my airways close as the breath is knocked from me and sends me spiraling.

The player skates away quickly, but I’m stuck. I can’t move if I even tried. My hand reaches up, attempting to get my heart to release the tension, but instead I collapse to my knees.

The last thing I remember is hitting the ice.

Sometime later, my eyes open, and all I can see are the bright lights of the rink.

“You’re going to be okay, kid,” Coach tells me, walking beside the paramedics as they carry me off the ice.

I can’t even respond to him. I feel like I can’t breathe. That only has me panicking.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe in for me. One, two, three, four,” the woman next to me says.

I try to follow her instructions. Soon I’m breathing easily again.

She continues to help me breathe until they get me back to the medical room. Coach waits with me while the doctor assesses me.

“He’s fine. His heart rate is a little high. Can you tell me what happened?” the doctor asks me.

“He pushed me into the boards, and I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt so tight. Then I fell,” I tell him.

He nods. “Is this the first time you felt the tightness?”

I shake my head. “No. It happens often, actually. Usually when my nerves are getting to me.”

“Were you nervous tonight?”

“I’m always nervous getting on the ice. It did start to get worse after the first hit caused my ears to ring a bit.”

“Do you have anxiety?” The doctor writes something in his notebook.

“Don’t we all?” I scoff.

“I mean, have you been diagnosed?” he clarifies.

I shake my head.

“You will need to go see another doctor, but what you are describing to me are symptoms of anxiety. I think that you might have had a panic attack, which is what caused you to feel like you couldn’t breathe. We can treat it, but I recommend you sit out the rest of the game.”

My heart drops. I feel so ashamed for letting my teammates down.

Coach steps forward. “Rest. When Doc says you can, you can come watch the rest of the game. Take it easy, and we will talk about this later.”

“Thanks, Coach. Tell the guys I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“No need to be sorry, kid. We will get this worked out. It’s not the end of the world.”

He moves to leave but stops once he opens the door. “You’ve got a James sibling sitting outside the door. Should I send her in?” he asks.

My eyes fly to the door, seeing Cora sitting across the hall.

“Yes.” My throat seems raw all of a sudden.

I sit up, waiting for her, and she doesn’t disappoint.

Cora comes running in, stepping between my legs to hug me like it’s the last time she will ever do it. She has tears pouring down her face.

“How did you get back here?” I whisper, kissing the side of her face.

The medical staff are all avoiding looking at us, giving us some semblance of privacy.

“I begged the security guard. It was only after Grace told him I was related to Clay that he let me back. I had to show him family photos. God, I thought you died. My heart stopped, Kellan. Literally stopped.”

She’s sobbing now. I hold her and let her get it all out. I rub my hand down the back of her head as she does.

When she is all cried out, she pulls back, sniffling. I hand her a tissue, smiling as she coyly turns around to blow her nose.

“I’m so gross, I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“Not at all. Come sit with me.” I pat the side of the medical table. She hops up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I had a panic attack. At least that’s what they think. Medically I’m fine, but I felt like I was dying.”

“That’s not good. Are you going to the hospital to get checked out?” she asks.

I nod. “Once the game is over, I’ll go. Coach will want to go with me. He said we could discuss what this means for me later.”

“You think it will affect your ability to play hockey?” she asks.

“No idea. I’m trying not to think about it. Makes me feel all tight-chested again,” I admit to her.

She holds me around my center, and I wrap my arm around her, kissing her head.

“It’s going to all be okay. I love you,” she tells me.

“I love you too.”

Tonight was the scariest moment of my life, but having her here with me helps soothe some of the anxiety.

After twenty minutes, I feel better, so I ask the doctor if we can watch the rest of the game. Cora stays by my side as we watch my teammates lead us to victory.

A pang of sadness hits me that I wasn’t on the ice with them, but I’m proud of them.

I’m proud of us.