Page 14

Hayden

The crisp, cold air hits my face as my blades glide smoothly over the ice. My stick taps in rhythm, my eyes scanning for my teammates who’re skating around me.

"Look alive, Bastian!” Mitchikov shouts, skating past me. “Man, we’ve got to crush the guys from Silverlake during our next match or we’ll lose our fucking faces.”

“Watch your left, Bastian! He’s coming at you!” I hear Henderson shout as the puck skids across the ice.

Excitement and determination crackle in the air. The next match with the Silver Bears from Silverlake University is going to be huge. We managed to defeat them last season but it’d been a brutal game that’d left most of us injured and bloodied.

Coach Sullivan is making us practice every evening to get us prepared for the game. All my teammates are giving their hundred percent to train themselves. I can see it in the way they’re skating and closely following the strategies Coach drew up for us.

I should be feeling just as pumped up to meet the bastards who attacked Mitchikov so mercilessly last season, that he ended up with two cracked ribs. The dude annoys the hell out of me but he also protects me in the rink. He’s always by my side, defending me while I guide the puck into the enemy’s net.

I take a deep breath, going after the puck but I can’t seem to focus on the fast-moving black disc today. The focus and power I usually feel while playing hockey are missing.

We’ve barely played for half an hour and my legs are already burning. My lungs are demanding more oxygen and my muscles are screaming with every move.

The puck whizzes past me. I try to block it with my stick but miss it.

“Focus, Bastian!” Coach roars from somewhere nearby. “That’s the tenth time you missed the puck!”

There’s no denying it anymore.

I’m off my game today.

Mitchikov skates close to me and pats me on the back. “You can do this, Bastian. I know you can!” He tries to pump me up but I’m missing the energy and drive to care for anything today.

Coach Sullivan narrows his eyes at me, his mouth pressed tightly in anger and frustration. Looking away, I focus on our goalie. Logan is shooting me looks like he’s waiting for me to finally snap out of whatever stupid daze I’m in.

I’m trying but I’m failing to focus on the game before me.

My mind is far from the ice-skating rink today and focused on a blue-eyed nerd.

Liam.

Liam smiling at some other guy.

Liam looking at me like I mean nothing to him.

Liam walking away from me.

A mix of rage and desperation flows through me. I clench my jaw, gripping my stick hard, trying to erase the image of some other guy smelling Liam’s golden curls.

Liam is mine! I scream internally. No one gets to touch what’s mine!

Closing my eyes, I breathe hard, trying to focus on my teammates. This is not the time to think about Liam. I need to focus on the game so that we can win against Silverlake.

Yes, I can do this , I tell myself. I can fix this. I just need to—

“Hayden! Heads up!”

I barely have time to react before something slams into me. Hard.

My world tilts, the ice rushing up toward me too fast.

And then—pain.

A sharp, burning pain shoots through my shoulder as I hit the ice. My stick skids away, leaving me flat on my back. My vision blurs for a second, and the voices around me sound distant and muffled.

“Shit, dude, you okay?” Logan is kneeling beside me, his brows furrowed in concern.

I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard against the pain and frustration. Mitchikov and his cousin grab each of my arms and haul me to my feet.

My vision swims as I struggle to stay on my feet. Why did this have to happen right before the game with those assholes from Silverlake U?

“You need to rest today, Bastian,” Coach Sullivan says as my teammates hold me up. “I can’t have you distract the rest of the team.”

“Yes, Coach,” I grate through clenched teeth.

“Come over here,” he says, snatching me away from my teammates.

He guides me outside the rink and stops. “What is up with you?” he asks in a grim tone.

“Sorry, Coach. I’ll do better at our next practice.”

“I’ve coached you for the past three years but I’ve never seen you so out of focus.” A concerned look comes over him. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Thanks, Coach but it’s nothing.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me.

“This is an important year for you as well as Mitchikov and Johnson,” he reminds me. “You know how much your performances in each game will determine your futures.”

Of course. We’re all seniors and looking forward to getting drafted into the NHL this year.

“I understand, Coach.”

“Good. Now go and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the gym.”

With a nod, I walk away toward the changing rooms. My shoulders slump as guilt weighs heavy in my gut. I need to do better. I need to be better.

But I just can’t focus on anything when my head is filled with thoughts of Liam. I must make him understand how I feel about him or I’ll risk losing more than just a game.