Page 213 of Pucking Around

We all turn, Caleb slipping just inside the room as Assistant Coach Andrews comes storming around the corner. “What the hell was that?” he barks.

Jake drops his gaze the floor, saying nothing.

Coach Andrews huffs, turning to me. “Is anything broken, Doc?”

I’m still holding the bloody gauze in my hand. “I don’t think so, sir. But I was starting with the head lac.”

“I’m fine,” Jake mutters. “I don’t need to be babied—”

“Shut up and let the doctor work,” Andrews orders. “So, what the hell happened out there, huh? What did Marchand do to you? Cause I was watching you all first period, and you had that guy on your shit list from the word jump.”

“Just an old beef,” Jake mutters.

“An old beef? Judging by the way you were gunning for him out there, you’d think he stole all your damn cattle! Is that it? Did he steal your girl, Compton? Did he fuck your sister and kick your dog? I’m not putting you on the ice again until I know what the hell is going on.”

Simmering with rage, Jake says nothing.

“Did he make fun of your mama?”

“No,” Jake mutters.

“Did he beat you in the draft?”

“No—”

“Then what—”

“He crippled Caleb!” Jake shouts.

An echoing silence follows his words.

“What?” I whisper, heart in my throat.

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “First game of our rookie season, seven minutes into the first period, Marchand checked Cay into the boards from behind, took him down to the ice and broke his fucking leg. He’s the reason Cay can’t play anymore.”

I suck in a breath. I’ve heard the story, obviously. I just never thought to memorize the name of Caleb’s assailant. I use that term because that’s what he is. The hit was made after play had stopped. He got a major fine for it.

I spin to face Caleb. He’s standing there by the doorway looking white as a sheet, seconds away from a panic attack. “Oh…Cay,” I murmur.

The fire in Coach Andrews cools instantly. “Is that true, Sanford? Marchand made the dirty hit on you?”

Slowly, Caleb nods.

“Well…fucking hell,” Andrews mutters, dragging a hand over his close-cropped scalp. “Alright, look—I gotta get back out there. Compton, I…” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing I can do about the fine.”

“I know,” Jakes replies.

“And we won’t know yet if you’re suspended for any more games…”

“I know,” he says again.

“What do you two need from me right now?” Andrews glances between them.

“Nothing,” Caleb says quickly. “I’m fine.”

But I know my Cay. He’s not fine. He’s drowning inside. I want to go to him. Want to hold him. I need Andrews to leave. I need to be alone with my guys.

“Compton?” Andrews says, one brow raised.