Page 173 of The Substitute

My teammates gather around me, cheering. I must have scored, but I can’t hear them or anything else as my world narrows around me.

I make Coach take me out, barely sitting on the bench as I try to breathe. A trainer comes to look at me, but I wave them off. I’m fucking trapped in my mind and can rationalize I’m having a goddamn panic attack, but I can’t even get a word out as my body betrays me.

One of them must drag me to the locker room because I find myself there, getting looked over.

“I’m fucking fine,” I force out, needing them to leave me alone. I pull out of their grasp and stomp away from them. I don’t want any of them to fucking see this. I don’t want anyone to know that my body is still terrified of him. I fucking hate that he can do this to me against my will like I’m still a fucking child.

Massive arms wrap around me, and I fight them.

“You’re okay. I’m here.” Savage’s voice barely makes it past my internal war.

I collapse into him, shaking. He picks me up and carries me somewhere. I don’t fight him. I don’t have the energy.

He puts my hand on his chest. “Can you feel this?”

I nod.

He laces the fingers of our other hand. “Try to copy my breathing.”

His breaths are slow and deep to match them, and I struggle, my body fighting me every step of the way. I play at a fucking elite level in hockey, and I can’t even breathe through a fucking panic attack. Fuck my stupid fucking brain.

I wait for Savage to give up on me. I wouldn’t blame him. Who the fuck wants to sit with someone while they’re having a goddamn panic attack?

But he stays, and slowly, my body gives in to his calm.

I press my face into his shoulder, too fucking embarrassed to look at him. I want to get up, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must seem in his lap as big as I am. Not like I am Tobi sized. Itry to move, but he doesn’t release me, and I’m too exhausted to struggle.

“Are you okay?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“I didn’t know he was here. I’m sorry,” Savage whispers against my temple.

“I never thought it was your fault.” My words come shaky, and I hate myself for being this weak. “Fuck. This isn’t your job. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

I fight him again, but he releases my wrist and wraps an arm around my shoulders, forcing me to stay. “It’s never been my job, but I’m still going to do it.”

“I shouldn’t have let you then, and I can’t be this fucking weak now.”

“It’s not weak,” Savage says sternly. “You can’t control how your body reacts to trauma.”

“But it’s not your fucking responsibility to take care of me.” I’m fighting tears burning in my eyes. I cannot let him see me cry.

“I want to be here.”

It suddenly occurs to me. “Did you leave the fucking game?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the fucking goalie.”

“And? I have a handful of games left before I’m done. This was more important.”

“Go back out there.”

“No.” There is amusement in his voice that makes me pick my head up.

“What is so fucking funny?” I demand. “You need to be with your team!”