Chapter 23 Paxon
Paxon
“Bouche!”
Hen slams into me like it’s been months since we last saw each other.
“You ready to dominate tonight?”
“I’m always ready.”
He claps my shoulder. “Everything okay with Boone?”
I nod. “Yeah, he’s good. Thanks for asking.”
While I get my gear on, I push all thoughts about everything but the game away.
We need this win, and I need the distraction.
I left Wraith’s house without a lot of fanfare, choosing to send Boone a text saying I would see him when the game was over.
I felt like seeing him again would add to my distractions and make it even harder to focus on my game.
I know what Wraith is doing tonight and he promised Boone would be safe, so I’ve just gotta hold on to that.
Landham stands in the center of the locker room, pumping us up with a pep talk about how good we are when we’re focused and play as a team. We’re playing New York tonight, and they won’t be easy to get past. They never are, and they’re the defending champions. I need to keep my head in the game.
Coach comes in next, offering more words of encouragement about how we’re tough enough to defeat New York. We’ve done it before. We can do it again.
Minutes later, we’re out on the ice.
“You missed practice,” Greene says to me in passing like he’s the fucking coach.
“Yeah.”
“You good? Ready to play?”
“The fuck are you going on about?”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just checking in, man. You never miss practice.”
Blowing out a breath, I nod. “I’m good. Just had a family thing earlier.”
“Cool. Hope it’s all okay.”
“It is. Thanks.”
The lights in the arena change and the music blares, announcing the start of the game. Everything else I’m dealing with can wait a few hours until we’re on the other side of this, ideally as winners.
I get in position on the ice, watching the puck like a hawk.
New York wins the face-off, which means I’m in defense mode.
One of their players, Nochton, skates towards me, his mouth slanted in a hostile grin like he has some kind of vendetta against me.
As far as I know, we don’t have beef, but if he wants some, I can do that.
“How are the knees, old man?” Nochton taunts. “I’m surprised you can still bend over to tie your skates, or did you get help?”
“Fuck off, Nochton.”
He laughs, locking into position in front of me, and I realize he’s distracting me from his center, who has the puck. “That the best you can do?”
“It’s not. Do you want my best? I’ll send you home crying.”
“Please. Like you could hurt my feelings. You’re washed up, man. You couldn’t take out a kid in the minors.”
Oh, he’s talking some shit. That’s cool.
I glance across the ice at Hen just as he slams into one of New York’s defensemen, but that leaves our net pretty open. New York is all over our goalie, Palachuk, and I need to act if I don’t want to watch them score.
Shoving past Nochton, I push off my skates to protect our net, but get pulled back by Nochton. I swing on him but miss. I don’t have time to tussle with this douche. I manage to break free and push a few New York players out of the way.
The puck bounces back and forth between players as bodies and sticks slam together in the fight for dominance.
I get in the middle of it, passing the puck to Nicklaus and shifting the tide.
Then I’m slammed into the boards by two hundred and fifty pounds of man, the pain in my right shoulder making me wince.
Nochton sneers at me but I just shove him off again and skate away to help my team. As I look over my shoulder to find the puck, Nochton’s there again, cross-checking me and igniting my rage.
I let it all out, slamming him into the boards, and within seconds my gloves are off and I’m pummeling the guy.
“Fucking asshole,” I growl. “I should bust your ugly face in.”
Nochton is no slouch in the fighting department, and he gets several hits in while the refs try to pull us apart and the crowd chants my name.
“You should try focusing on helping your team and not playing footsie with me,” I spit. “Got a crush on me, Nochton?”
“Fuck you,” he yells, spitting blood onto the ice as he slams his fist into my jaw again.
“Nah, you’re not my type.”
I land another good punch before the refs pull me off. I skate backward, grinning at the damage I caused, but then I’m slammed into by another New York player hard enough that my feet leave the ice and I land on my back with an “oof.”
“Fucking asshole,” he yells at me, but my ears are ringing.
The pain radiating from my shoulder is enough to bring tears to my eyes, but that doesn’t stop me from getting up and charging after that player.
The game descends into chaos at that point, with numerous fights breaking out across the ice.
I’m throwing punches blindly, so pissed off I can’t think straight.
My shoulder hurts, my jaw hurts, and there’s blood dripping into my eye, but none of that slows me down.
Nothing does until the game is stopped and everyone is sent off the ice for multiple penalties.
The trainers are on me as soon as I hit the bench, checking the cut above my eye, but I’m still seething. After the refs decide how to punish all of us, New York gets the worst of it for instigating and we end up with a Power Play.
Landham gets the puck, and within minutes, we’re ahead 2-1.
From there the rest of the game is a fucking battle, but we pull it off, winning 4 -2. By the time I make it back to the locker room, I know something is seriously wrong. My shoulder is on fire. I try to ignore it through my shower and while I’m getting dressed, but the pain is intense.
Reluctantly, I head over to the trainers. “I’ve got a problem.”
Hanson turns to me, raising his eyebrow. “What’s going on, Bouche?”
My stomach twists as the words leave my mouth. “It’s my shoulder.”
An hour later, I’ve got my diagnosis and it isn’t good. Torn rotator cuff. Surgery required.
“That’s not happening, Coach. I’ll get through the season.”
He frowns at me. “Bouche. Come on. I can’t let you do that and make it worse.”
Rubbing my forehead, I try to tamp down the building frustration. “This is my last chance for a cup and we both know it. I can rest for a couple of weeks and be ready for the playoffs. Then I’ll have surgery in the summer.”
“And then?”
I have to say it. I have to do this. Wraith’s words from earlier flash through my mind. He’ll be there to help me navigate life without hockey. I’ll figure it out.
“I’ll retire.”
I expect to see relief on Coach’s face, but instead he looks disappointed. “Sorry, Bouche. I know you’re not a hundred percent ready.”
“No, but I guess my body is making the decision for me. Just please, don’t bench me. I can do this.”
“We have to make sure the news doesn’t get out or other teams will target you.”
“Let’s say it’s a concussion from the body slam. I’ll work with the trainers to be game ready in a couple of weeks.”
He nods. “But the first sign that you’re not okay, you’re coming off the ice.”
“I get it.”
“Need a ride home?”
“Nah, I can do it. Thanks, Coach.”
“You played hard tonight. You gave it all for your team.”
“Not sure what got up Nochton’s ass.”
“Playoff fever, probably.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, sliding off the medical bed. “I hate hospitals.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Back at the arena, I manage to get in my car with my gear, using my left arm for everything and carefully hiding my sling under my coat just in case there’s anyone still lingering around the arena.
Right now I just want to see Boone and wait for Wraith to get home safely. I’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.
It’s weird pulling up to Wraith’s massive house, knowing my brother is all alone in there. I hope he watched the game. He always gets a kick out of the bigger fights.
The house is silent when I enter. Eerily so. I climb the steps, heading straight to the guest room where Boone is staying, but it’s empty. Next I head back down to the rec room, thinking he might be watching a movie, but it’s empty too.
My pulse kicks up as I hurry back up the stairs to Wraith’s bedroom. Panic sets in as I look around in desperation, unsure what to do. Did Boone take off again? Did someone show up here and take him? Can I call Wraith when he’s working?
I’m about to spin the fuck out when I see a piece of paper on the nightstand with my name on it. I grab it, flipping it open to read it.
Pax,
Boone is with us. Don’t worry. We’ll both be back safely.
Love,
Wraith.
This news does not make me feel better. I can only imagine what Boone did to make this happen. I know in my heart there’s no way it was Wraith’s idea. Nope. This smacks of Boone’s doing.
Slumping onto the bed, I grip my hair and stare at the ceiling. All I can do now is wait and hope that Wraith is right and they’ll return home to me safely.