Page 18

Hayden

A charged atmosphere welcomes me when I enter the ice skating rink for the game against Silverlake U. Thousands of fans pack the stands, the air thrumming with their anticipation. Banners of royal blue and gold wave high, suffusing me with power and adrenaline.

I spot flags of green and silver among the mass of blue supporters, realizing the Silver Bears brought their own army to the rink too. The sight ignites a fire in my chest, turning my desire to win into an inferno.

The rivalry between the Silver Bears and the Thunder Knights has always been bloodthirsty.

I have no idea how or when it started but our games have always been brutal. Every season, our playoffs bring maximum fans to the stadium. Front-row tickets sell for hundreds of dollars but that doesn’t deter them from filling every seat out there.

I might be unlucky in love but I will not lose a hockey game. This is the only place in the world where I thrive unconditionally. I’m determined to unleash all my pent-up frustration into destroying the Bears tonight.

Closing my eyes momentarily, I breathe in deeply and then, exhale.

Even though my performance during practices over the past week has been choppy, I’m determined to give my best to win this game. I won’t let anything interfere with my focus this evening, not even when my gaze keeps searching for a familiar face in the cheering crowd.

Liam is not here , I tell myself, tightening my grip on my stick. He’ll never come to my games and he’ll never be mine.

Exhaling out another breath, I let go of all the emotions that make me weak and skate to center ice. A figure in green hurtles toward me, stopping only when he’s mere inches away from me.

Dylan Larson, the Silver Bears’ center, locks his gaze with me. A cocky smirk lifts the corners of his lips, like he’s already won the game against us.

I smirk right back, silently telling him to keep dreaming.

Mitchikov, along with our left and right wingers fan out behind me, taking their positions.

This is it , I tell myself, putting all my focus on the ref as he gets ready to drop the puck.

I push forward before the puck can hit the ground, ready to grab it before Larson can get his paws on it. Crashes and loud curses sound behind me as the game starts.

As expected, the battle starts with sticks clashing, bodies slamming into boards and into the ice. I zoom past the oncoming Bears, determined to guide the puck into their net.

Just as I’m about to go for the puck, a heavy body bulldozes against me, throwing me off my feet. I land on my side, feeling the impact of the fall.

My ribs ache as I push myself back on my feet. The familiar spasms from a ligament tear spike through me. The bastard probably planned to break my ribs with that collision.

Gasps escape me as I skate back in position and look for the puck. These fucking Bears will soon learn that no amount of pain will keep me off the ice.

My father made sure of it. If that man did me one favor, it was to make me immune to pain.

Skating forward, I steal the puck once again and make a run toward the Bears’ goalie.

Larson immediately comes for me. Despite the pain on my left side, I weave with lightning speed through the Bears’ defenders. The shooting jabs make me more alert, allowing me to focus on the game.

A winger lungs at me but he’s too slow. I spin past him, streaking toward the net.

I’m almost there, ready to shoot. Just as I raise my stick in anticipation, a hard crack reverberates through me.

Some bastard slashed right across my gloved hand. Thankfully, the impact wasn’t bad enough to maim my wrist.

I wait for the whistle but none comes. Turning around, I find the ref caught among a brawl between Logan, our captain and goalie, and two of the Bears.

Rage and frustration blast through, making me clench my teeth.

The bastards from Silverlake U are so desperate for a win, they don’t care if they end up breaking us. They have no hesitation about playing dirty. They just want to win against us.

Well, they can try.

I signal at Mitchikov and he immediately skates toward me, ready to guard my flank. Taking a deep breath, I go for the puck again.

The moment I have the puck back in my control, I fly across the ice with Larson and his defenders coming at me. Their sticks slash through the air, all aiming for me but I’m faster than them all.

With a quick maneuver, I turned around to face them, making them halt abruptly, nearly colliding with me. The split moment is enough for me to pass the puck to Henderson who’s been hovering by the net.

Three heavy bodies collide with me, their sticks hitting my helmet but Henderson scores!

The stadium erupts with thunderous cheers and shouts from the crowd.

A smirk forms on my lips but I barely have time to celebrate as a Bear checks me hard into the boards.

Fuck! He’s thrown me on my left side again.

Pain shoots through my shoulder, adding to the aches jolting along my left side. My breaths turn erratic but I clench my jaw tight and push myself to my feet.

I can take this. I’ve taken worse growing up.

The game gets progressively more brutal. Mitchikov retaliates, avenging me by shoving one of their defenders so hard against the boards, the poor kid doesn’t get back up and has to be taken off the ice by a group of paramedics.

During the second period, I manage to score two more goals for our team. My muscles scream for relief but I know I can’t let anyone know of my injuries yet.

Coach’s gaze stays on me, though. He can see through my mask, noticing the imperceptible way I’m avoiding putting any pressure on my left side.

I’m barely able to breathe through the pain but I know I can’t give up.

I never give up.

As the third period starts, I see that the players on both sides are starting to look exhausted. But like every battle, no one is going to stand down and let the other win.

I get hold of the puck soon and I’m streaking toward the goal but something feels off. Glancing to my side, I see Mitchikov and our defenders following me closely, doing their best to keep the Bears from attacking me before I can score another goal.

I strike the puck but the Bears’ goalie stops it from entering the net.

That’s not a problem, though. I can take another shot, especially when no one is opposing me.

Suddenly, a loud, collective gasp erupts in the stadium, distracting me.

An evil smirk comes on Connor Sawchuk, the Bears’ goalie.

“Shit, Johnson’s down,” someone says, making me whirl around to look toward our goalie.

Logan is lying on his back, barely moving. The Bears circle around him like hawks, waiting to strike him again. They probably would have taken the opportunity if the referee didn’t blow his whistle to stop the game.

My breaths come out in erratic gasps and pants as I skate toward the crease. My muscles burn from my aggressive movements as I speed toward Logan.

A low buzzing fills the arena as a group of paramedics rush onto the ice.

My teammates surround me, all eerily silent as we hold our breaths. Only the occasional scrape of a skate or the low murmuring of voices of the refs talking to the paramedics fills my ears now.

Staring ahead, I take in Logan’s motionless body.

He’s not just our goalie, but our captain as well. While I score the goals, he anchors the team, making sure we stay focused on our strategies no matter what the opponents throw at us.

Seeing him lying on the ice with his helmet half off, his face horribly pale and his eyes squeezed shut, I know something’s gone very wrong. Logan’s pain tolerance is almost as good as mine. Since he’s still not getting up, I’m sure he’s been seriously injured.

The Silver Bears watch from a far corner of the rink, observing and assessing. Was this their plan all along? Distracting us by giving us free reign of the puck while they collectively went behind our backs to attack our goalie.

“Put the neck brace on.”

“Careful while you lift him. Watch his leg!”

“Take it easy on him while you place him on the stretcher.”

I catch bits of conversation among the refs and paramedics.

Logan lets out a pained groan as they roll him onto the stretcher.

My stomach churns at the sound.

Logan never lets on that he’s hurting. He didn’t even let anyone know he’d broken a rib during a game last season. He even shakes it off when they hit him across his face, sometimes cracking his helmet. If he’s making a sound now, it’s serious.

Shit! This is bad , I realize as they haul Logan onto a stretcher and carry him away.

I glance toward my teammates. Mitchikov and the rest have their jaws clenched up as they shift uncomfortably. Tyler, our backup goalie, gets into the rink, his gait careful and measured. He tries to look like he’s ready to take Logan’s place but fails to hide the fear in his eyes.

“You have five minutes to warm up,” the referee tells Tyler.

He nods, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. His movements are stiff and he’s barely staying steady on his feet.

The buzzer sounds again, signaling the restart of the game.

The Silver Bears have already smelled blood. They know he poses no threat to them. They gather around Tyler like sharks, intimidating him by hitting their sticks loudly on the ice.

I try to get hold of the puck but lose it as two of the Bears come at me from different angles. Before I can whirl around and chase the puck, Larson is already storming toward our goalie.

Tyler barely reacts as the puck shoots past his right foot and enters the net.

Our wingers and I turn all our attention to get back the puck but the Bears are just as ruthless. They don’t let us break through their defenses while Larson takes the opportunity to score two more goals.

Soon, the scoreboard flashes 3-3 , making us even.

My heart sinks.

This is bad. The momentum of the game has completely shifted. We’re all frustrated, shoving at the Bears but they fight back tooth and nail to keep us away from their center.

We’d still have a chance if Tyler puts up some serious effort to stop Larson from scoring goals. His confidence is so shaken after watching what happened to Logan, he barely does anything to stop the puck from moving into the net. If possible, he’d just stand aside and let Larson capture the goal post from him.

Coach is shouting at Tyler but it just makes him more nervous.

Larson takes another shot and easily scores another goal.

3-4

My hands ball into tight fists. Coach Sullivan looks furious with Tyler and the way the game is turning out. Mitichikov slams his stick against the boards in frustration.

We’re losing. And we all know it.

My gaze scans over the crowd, desperate for something, for someone.

Liam.

I’ve tried to stay away from him since that night in his apartment but I need him at this moment. Unbearable pain lances through my body and heart, making me think of the only person in the world who can soothe me.

I don’t even know if Liam is here but still, I look for him, searching the crowd until my gaze falls on someone standing just behind Coach Sullivan.

A wave of cold washes over me as I lock eyes with my father.

Dressed in an impressive black suit, he stands tall and still. His dark eyes are sharp and merciless, watching me with a familiar, unforgiving stare.

What’s he doing here?

Dad hadn’t bothered to come to my games after I left home to come to Knightswood. He hadn’t shown any interest in me all these years, never even bothering to wish me on my birthday or on Christmas. Not that I was complaining about it.

His oblivion toward me was a welcome relief from his abuse.

He’d shown up for the last match during the last season. Even though the team won, he’d ripped into me, abusing me until my body and mind broke.

Did he somehow anticipate my team will be losing today? Is he here to witness me fail as a hockey player before I can make it to the NHL?

A cold sensation slithers down my spine.

If I end up losing this game, he’ll never let me forget it.

The fans scream as the Bears score another goal.

5-3.

My whole body stiffens. I choke, feeling like this moment is turning into a nightmare. I want to get out of here and away from my father.

His gaze burns into me. And for the first time in a long while, I feel like I can’t breathe.