Page 62

Alex

A drenaline pumps through my body as I check my phone for a fourth time since suiting up for the game. Coach gave me the green light on starting, and the person I wanted to tell the good news still hasn’t responded back to my slew of texts.

“You good?” Clarkson asks.

I wave my phone. “Waiting to hear from Olive. She was supposed to be here by now.”

The four texts I sent her have all gone unanswered. I figured it was because she was driving, but now I’m not sure.

Clarkson adjusts his jersey. “I’m sure traffic is just a bitch. The first game always gets a lot of people traveling to the stadium. The news was reporting a lot of delays last I heard.”

But why wouldn’t she text me back if she was stuck in traffic? “Yeah,” I mutter, the feeling in my gut getting heavier as I settle onto the bench.

“All right, boys,” Coach calls out, entering the locker room. “Are you ready to show the Krakens what we’ve got?”

A majority of the team cheers, but I can’t gather the energy to say anything.

Me: Are you okay? You’re still coming tonight right?

“O’Conner,” Coach calls out. “Get your head in the game, son. Quit texting your mom or whatever piece of ass you’re trying to make plans with. If you want something to celebrate later, we need you here with your team.”

Teeth grinding, I grip the phone and swallow the cool retort that would probably get me into trouble if I spoke it aloud. I can’t risk giving up my spot on the ice.

Clarkson pats my back when I stand to join the huddle. He always gives us pep talks before the games start, but they’re not nearly as good as the ones Olive delivers.

“We had a tough end to last season,” he begins, looking around the room. “But that’s not going to depict how we play today. It’s a new season. A new start. Tonight, we’re going to remind Canada’s team what we’ve got. Are you with me?”

An array of “fuck yeahs” and “damn straights” echo around the locker room.

I feel Clarkson’s eyes on me as I tune out the rest of his speech and follow the guys when they start spilling out of the locker room and toward the arena.

“Hey,” my captain says, pulling me aside. “I can see if Belle can get ahold of her. But we need you in the game tonight, man. And we need you to play like you did at practice. I know it’s probably asking for a lot, but…”

Swallowing, I forced myself to nod. “I need to know she’s okay. If she chose not to come…” Well, that was something I’d have to deal with later tonight. But something tells me it isn’t that at all. She said we’re a team. We agreed.

Teams don’t abandon each other.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he reassures, but there’s something in his eyes that glints with a shadow of doubt.

“I’ll try getting a message to Belle before we go out there, okay?

But tonight is a chance to prove yourself.

You’re not the Alex O’Conner of last season.

You’re not a rookie. You’re a Penguin, and you’re here to stay. ”

Here to stay.

I dip my chin. “All right.”

He smacks my back again before we wind up with the rest of the team. I don’t know what Clarkson says to one of the PAs, but she runs off after he gives her a quick order and a head nod in my direction.

Anxiety bubbles under my skin as the music starts playing for our introduction. The crowd gets louder, their anticipation not fueling me the way it used to.

I love hockey.

I love the adrenaline and the noise and the pain that comes with getting slammed into the boards or overworking your muscles trying to outskate your rivals. The buzz under my skin warms my body no matter how cold the arena feels once my skates hit the ice.

Today it feels different, though.

All of those feelings are there.

The adrenaline.

The warmth.

But in the back of my mind, I’m thinking of her. Wondering. Worrying. It consumes me.

Clarkson skates beside me. “Head in the game,” he reminds me, eyeing me through his helmet.

Moskins skates on my other side. “Trust me. Whatever is on your mind can wait until after we stomp on these fuckers. Distractions aren’t welcome on the ice,” he tells me, skating away.

My jaw grinds, even though he’s right.

I can’t afford to be distracted.

When the game starts, we get into formation.

I crouch down, holding my stick and feeling the cool air hit my face. My fingertips clench the wrapped graphite as the whistle goes off.

I don’t know what comes over me.

Maybe I get possessed, or maybe something snaps into place. But I remind myself how far I’ve come to get here, and how much I have to lose if I let it go away.

Distractions aren’t welcome on the ice.

Those words echo in my head.

I intercept the puck and use my body to block defense from getting it back. I maneuver around him and pass it to Nelson before someone trips me and sends me flying across the ice stomach first. Ice chips fly up and spray me, fueling the rage that’s been bubbling there for a long time.

Channel it.

I get up as the referee intervenes, calling a tripping penalty and sending the douchebag to the box for two minutes. It’ll barely give us the upper hand, but I plan on taking full advantage.

Clarkson gestures to me and I show him I’m fine before we’re back at it.

There are only a few minutes left in the quarter, and the pressure of the clock starts weighing on me.

Forty-five seconds.

Moskins sends the puck to Nelson, who gets blocked by the defense, but I manage to get the puck as they’re sending it across the ice.

Twenty seconds.

Two big players come at me with speeds even I’m impressed by.

I bypass one and narrowly miss the other.

I still have the puck.

The goal approaches, and I can tell they’re not going to have enough time to stop me.

I pivot away from the oncoming player and move the puck away from him before whipping it as hard as I can toward the net.

The goalie lunges to stop it.

But he misses.

When the buzzer goes off, we’re 1-0.

And despite my teammates surrounding me, I look at the stands and search for the only pair of eyes I want on me.

But she’s not there.

I feel nothing.

Not even when I score a second goal.

Or when Clarkson scores a third.

As the last quarter ends, it’s a shutout.

4-0.

As we skate off the ice, I glance up at the friends and family section.

Olive never showed up.

Clarkson finds me staring at the crowd, skating over to me with a serious look cutting into his face. “Belle called. She’s with Olive.”

My eyes snap from him to the friends and family section where they should be.

“Hey.” He grabs my arm, regaining my attention. “Belle said there was a car accident…”

Everything goes silent, save the hard and heavy thump, thump, thump beating in my chest. My heart echoes in my eardrums as I watch Clarkson’s mouth move without hearing whatever words are coming out.

Suddenly, Moskins is in front of me.

Not only in front of me, shaking me.

“He’s in shock,” someone says.

“O’Conner.” That’s Moskins, but for someone standing so close to me, he sounds far away. “Don’t take this personally or hold it against me.”

I barely have time to blink before he’s slapping me across the face, causing the drumming in my ears to become ringing.

Red hot anger boils under my skin as I snap out of the panic holding my body down.

“Whoa,” Clarkson says as I lunge at Moskins.

Moskins is holding his hands up. “You weren’t moving or answering us. You can hit me back later. In the meantime, let’s get you to the locker room and washed up.”

“But Olive—”

“Is okay,” Clarkson reassures. “Belle is with her.”

She’s okay.

She’s okay.

Something inside me cracks.

Because the last time there was a car accident, not everybody was fine.

My father never came home, and neither did his wife.

I saw them only one more time after that, and it was during their funerals.

It was closed casket, but their wedding photo was on a stand between the two oak pieces of wood in the front of the room.

She’s okay.

I take a deep breath, easing the tightness in my chest that has slowly been suffocating me.

“There you go,” Moskins encourages. “Come on. We don’t want to make a scene. People are still watching.”

I let them guide me away from the people lingering in the crowd hoping to get our attention.

If anything happened to Olive, she’d never know how I felt. She never would have heard me tell her how much it scares me not to have her in this life.

I swallow hard.

She’d never know how much I love her.