Chapter 16
FIFI
In the stands at the game
We all jump from our seats when the melee starts near BC’s net. I saw the cheap shot Vincent took, crashing against Trick into the boards in the corner and then shoving the end of his stick into his helmet, hitting him in the mouth.
The crowd explodes at the close-up on the jumbotron showing the blood coming from Trick’s mouth. My hands fly to my face to hold in the shriek, and my heart goes into the kind of crazy beat you get when you’re watching a horror movie and you’re sure the zombie is going to hack the girl’s arm off.
Dad is yelling, cheering for Vincent along with other BC fans in the area, including George. Mom doesn’t cheer, but she gives me a concerned look.
“Don’t worry, Sofia. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks.”
I force myself to lighten up. “Of course. It’s just—”
I’m interrupted by another roar from the crowd as the fighting escalates. Trick is in front of the net, taking his helmet off, but not moving to the bench where the coach frantically waves to him to get off the ice.
One of the Wildcats, I think his name is Vaughn, is in one of those fighting dances with Vincent where they hold onto each other while trying to get in punches.
Vaughn manages to punch Vincent’s helmet off.
Mom grabs my arm, watching with acute concern etched on her face, while Dad yells for him to punch back.
Then I watch in true horror as someone from BC’s team shoves Trick right into Vincent’s back.
Vincent spins around and sees it’s Trick, and I can feel the animosity flare between them.
Vincent swings his fist first while Trick is still catching his balance from the shove, and Vincent catches Trick square in the jaw.
Trick goes down.
This time, nothing will hold back my shriek. Luckily, my voice is lost in the outraged noise of the sell-out crowd.
Without thinking, I step into the aisle to leave.
“Where are you going?” George asks. It’s a reasonable question, and I almost tell him of course I’m going to the locker room or the training room or wherever they’re taking Trick to.
I glance up at the jumbotron to see two people helping him off the ice.
At least he’s upright on his skates, but he’s clearly shaky.
“I’m going to the lady’s room.” I smile as if that will make my explanation more plausible.
I can see the question Again? in his expression, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
I take off, and as I move through the crowd, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. It’s not like I have status to see him. I’m not a family member, and I’m not, at least officially, his girlfriend. Am I even his unofficial girlfriend?
Or am I just another hookup after all?
Nonsense, we have more than that. It’s just the secretive nature of our relationship that confuses things. I can’t let it keep getting in my head.
But who was that girl he kissed? And what if she’s there waiting outside the locker room with his family for word on how he’s doing? What if his family thinks she’s Trick’s girlfriend?
What if she is Trick’s girlfriend?
Hurrying down the stairs, where this time there is no security guard, I get to the hallway near the tunnel to the ice and the locker rooms and run into a wall of people.
The period is over, and the teams are filing off the ice, and all kinds of media from TV cameras to the girl I recognize from the Wildcat news are gathered, creating a buzz in the air made more of apprehension than excitement.
UNH’s head coach, Zabra, walks past everyone with a serious frown.
When one of the TV reporters tries to stop him, he waves at the man. “I have nothing to say right now except I hope the fool kid didn’t get himself too hurt to play in our next game.”
The words shock me, and even the reporter is taken aback.
But Zabra disappears behind the locker room door in a hurry.
He can’t think it was Trick’s fault that Vincent punched him?
Speaking of Vincent, I see him come off the ice and get accosted by a reporter and a TV camera immediately.
He doesn’t notice me because he’s all too happy to give the interview, telling the reporter Trick tried to blindside him and he was only defending himself.
That’s not how I saw it. Anger against my own brother, like I’ve never felt before, rises up, and every nerve in me wants to go and slap him across the face.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Ducking back against the wall at the corner of the hallway, I wait, hoping to see Trick or get word about his injury. I know I’m being foolish because there’s nothing I can do for him. Nothing but get us both in trouble if the wrong person sees me here.
I turn to hustle to the nearest exit and run smack into Daniel Jennings. Shit.