Chapter 5 This Isn’t Going Away
Everett
Tension ripples through the arena as my stare meets hers. Her pink lips part, and her eyes widen. I wasn’t expecting to see her in person tonight. My eyes rake down her body, and I realize she’s wearing his number on her jacket.
It shouldn’t matter. Our history is barely history, but something about her wearing the number seven makes me feral. I feel drawn to her, and now that we’ve seen each other again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay away.
“Nuttall,” my teammate yells, pulling my attention back into the game.
My shoulder took the brunt of Ulrich’s hit, and pain ripples down my right arm.
Turning, I do my best to push through it, but I can’t.
The puck slides across the ice, and as I wind up to fire it on goal, another shooting pain radiates from my shoulder, causing me to wince and the puck to go sliding with little force toward the Rats’ goalie who redirects it toward a player in purple.
Fuck. This isn’t going away.
Skating toward the bench, I yell, alerting Kai McCormick, another forward, that I’m coming out and he needs to be ready. As I approach, he jumps over the boards and I step off. Motioning for Dr. Hamilton, I sit on the bench, and he walks to meet me.
“My shoulder’s fucked,” I say.
“You think you can go back out, or you want me to take you back and give you something for it?”
“That hit by Ulrich did something. I’m feeling a shooting pain when I move it. It’s why I missed that shot.”
“Take him now. We need him out there,” Rob Zillman, our head coach, orders.
The crowd erupts, and I turn to see that the Rats now lead 1-0. Fuck.
Removing my helmet, I follow the team doctor to the locker room.
“You can’t keep this up,” he says as we move down the tunnel.
“I’ll be fine,” I bite out.
“Yeah, but your shoulder won’t be.”
He’s telling me what I already know. My shoulder has always given me trouble, but after a gnarly hit in our second game this season, it’s been giving me more problems than usual.
One more wrong hit and my career will be over.
Fuck, the way it’s currently feeling, it may already be, but I’m not ready.
At thirty-three, I know I don’t have much more time left out on the ice, but in no way did I think this would be my last season.
We walk into the medical room, and I sit on one of the tables, removing my jersey and shoulder pads. Dr. Hamilton assesses my shoulder, muttering to himself when he attempts to move it and I wince at the pain.
“For fuck’s sake, Nuttall,” he says. “I’ll give you a shot of Toradol, but we’re gonna have to do something more about this.”
“Yeah,” I grumble. There’s only so much ice, tape, and the shots will do. It needs to be formally assessed, and I need more than a temporary bandage. My leg bounces up and down as I watch the clock. He needs to fucking hurry so I can get back out there.
He prepares my shoulder for the injection and then administers the shot.
“Should kick in after ten minutes,” he says, starting to clean up the supplies as I re-dress for the game. “Let’s take it easy the rest of the first, and you can go back in at the start of the second.”
“I think I’m good,” I say, rotating my shoulder. The pain is still present, but I can already feel the miracle drug working.
He shakes his head. “You’re insane.”
Making my way back to the bench, there are three minutes left in the first period. We’re still down 1-0, and I don’t want to go into intermission behind. I take a seat with the rest of my team, biding my time until it’s my turn to get back out there.
Kai makes his way down the ice toward the goal, our two wingers trailing close behind.
He looks gassed, and guilt crawls up my throat at the thought that my teammates have had to make up for me being gone.
As the defense closes in on him, he attempts to shoot the puck, but it bounces off the right post and the Rats regain possession.
Shouting his name from the bench, I alert him that I’m back. He gestures in my direction, and I ready myself for the ice.
A Rats defenseman skates off, and Ulrich rejoins the game. He passes our bench and throws me a wink and a smirk.
Kai makes it to me a second later, and I jump over the boards, rejoining the game as well.
There’s only a minute and half left of the period, but that’s more than enough time to even the score.
Theo passes me the puck, and I charge toward the Rats’ end of the ice. Ulrich moves to rub me out against the board, but I pass back to Theo and manage to sidestep the asshole before he can finish his check.
Theo flicks the puck back across the middle of the ice to me, and when I wind up to shoot, I’m relieved to find the meds are working, the sharp pain that once radiated down my arm gone. I one-time to pass, narrowly missing the goalie’s outstretched glove and into the back of the net.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout, my teammates circling around me in celebration. Turning, I find Claire again. She’s standing among the erupting fans with her eyes locked on me. A subtle look of approval paints her face, and I have to remind myself to focus on the game.
We’ve evened up the score, but now we need to win.