Page 215 of The Fall

“It’s different. But good.” The whole conversation feels surreal. “He used to call before games to remind me about weaknesses in the opposing goalie. This was... he told me to have fun.”

Blair’s arm tightens around my waist. “You should listen to him.”

I turn in his arms until we’re face to face, his blue eyes searching mine. “We should get moving,” I say, even though leaving this bed means getting closer to puck drop.

I picture the arena glowing in the rain, all those seats filling up with people who still remember the kid I was here, too new, too green, breaking under the lights. They’ll boo me tonight, the second my skate hits their ice, the moment I touch the puck. Vancouver fans have long memories and they don’t forgive easily. I was supposed to be their future, the hometown kid who’d lead them back to glory, but instead, I crumbled.

They’re right to hate me. I gave them nothing to cheer for.

I want to skate out there and be the player I’ve become, not the ghost of who I was, but this city makes me small again.

Blair drops his forehead to mine. “Let’s go show them who you are.”

Vancouver’s crowd starts booing me during warm-ups. Torey Kendrick, the returning hero. Not.

“Friendly bunch,” Hayes says.

Blair says nothing, but he throws harder shots, takes sharper turns, and squares up his shoulders like he’s ready to fight thewhole arena. When we line up for rushes, he feeds me perfect passes right in my wheelhouse, letting me shoot and be seen by the whole crowd.

It doesn’t help.

“Kicks.” Coach calls me over as we’re coming off the ice. “A word.”

I follow him, bracing for last-minute strategy or lineup changes.

“These homecoming games can get in your head. Remember, you’re one of ours now. Whatever happened here, it’s behind you.”

I nod.

“Play your game,” he says. “And fuck ‘em up.”

The game starts brutal and gets worse.

Every time I touch the puck, boos rain down. My former teammates finish every check with a little extra, sending messages with their shoulders and elbows.We didn’t want you.

Blair answers every liberty they take. A slash on my hands earns them a crushing hit along the boards. When Tooks runs me in the corner, Blair swoops in and destroys him. It’s a clean hit, his shoulder to chest, but the ref’s arm goes up.

He skates to the box with his chin high, tapping his stick on the ice when he passes our bench.

They score on the power play. Of course they do. The crowd goes insane, and someone throws a jersey on the ice. Of course, it’s mine.

“Shake it off,” Coach barks, but his voice is lost in the roar of the crowd.

Blair comes out of the box like a man possessed. He wins the next face-off, drives the net, and nearly decapitates their goalie with his shot.

“Captain’s fired up tonight,” Hollow says to me during a line change.

That’s one way to put it. Blair’s playing like someone— Well, like someone has gone headhunting after the man he loves, and he’s not taking it. His knuckles are already swollen from a scrap with Criss-Cross, and he keeps flexing his left hand like he wants another excuse to drop the gloves.

Hayes pulls Blair aside while we’re filing off for the second intermission. “You’re playing prison rules.”

“They want to make it about him?” Blair’s voice drops. “Then I’ll make it about them.”

I should find this less attractive than I do, but Blair ready and raging to take on my entire former team because they’re being mean to me hits buttons I didn’t know I had.

“Don’t let them know how to get to you.” Hayes stares Blair down.

The third period stays scoreless, and the game clock bleeds down toward overtime.