Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
NATHAN
Sweat beads on my forehead.
The hockey stick feels foreign in my hand.
Get a grip, Nat.
This first head-to-head game should’ve been easy. We’ve got Chance McLanely, Renthrow, Kinsey, other all-stars from the training camp, handpicked for their talent.
And yet the opposing team is breathing down our necks.
Shot after shot.
Defense after defense.
We can’t get a break.
The score is a tie.
The game is on its last round and it’s clear what the strategy was. The other team is fighting to push us into overtime, turning this battle of skills and speed into an arena of endurance.
No one expected the night to be this vicious.
Or this personal.
I glance around the ice, breathing hard.
The game is moving fast with three defenders clinging to McLanely like vultures on a carcass. It’s the smartest thing an opposing team can do.
Coach accounted for this.
The strategy he laid out was clear. I’m supposed to come in and do exactly what I did at the last scrimmage. Move fast enough that the defenders can’t catch me. ‘Predict’ where the puck will land and get there first.
Be the next Chance McLanely.
Except Coach isn’t the only one who studied my moves in that game.
The other team did too.
And rather than flock me with a brood of defenders like they did to McLanely, they launched one weapon.
Theilan.
The first hit came early and it wasn’t even subtle.
I heard the roar of the crowd when Theilan and I crashed in the corner. On the outside, our collision looked like a vicious, unavoidable by-product of the game. Grown men moving at speeds of up to twenty to thirty miles an hour on frozen water are going to cross paths. It’s inevitable.
But the way my bad leg screamed at the impact was my first clue.
I tried to skate it off.
The second hit happened at the boards.
Same lettered jersey.
Same angry sneer.
Theilan.
This time, the message was clear.
I’m coming for you, Campbell.
He was trying to test the strength of my leg and, in doing so, he learned something I desperately wanted to hide—I’m more vulnerable than I should be.
I took a pill exactly one hour before warm ups so that it would activate during the game, but that wasn’t enough. The ache is continuing, lighting up my entire leg like a flashing caution sign.
Renthrow senses that something’s off with me because he skates past me on his way to the puck and gives me an inquiring look.
Gotta pull it together, Campbell.
I blow out a breath from my mouth, sweat draining down my face. I’ve felt pain before. The surgery where they reattached my leg, where they put the limb back together piece-by-piece was excruciating, even with the anesthesia.
All the physical therapy that followed was no better.
If I can survive that, I can get through this round.
I push through the agony and take off across the ice, refusing to be a liability to my team.
I’m in the neutral zone, and I can sense Theilan closing in like a shark smelling blood. My weakness has been exposed.
I knew he’d be back.
The puck slides wide.
I chase it anyway, thinking I can bring it back before Theilan can reach me. But my body isn’t matching the speed that my brain thinks I’m capable of. With my peripheral vision, I see the blur of skates, shoulder pads and a helmet, but seeing it in advance doesn’t mean I can stop it.
I feel the slash to the outside of my knee and I go sliding.
The ref blows the whistle.
Above the roar of the crowd, I hear someone cursing up a storm.
Then I see Renthrow, Kinsey and McLanely flocking to Theilan. Neither of them touch him, but they form a wall around him like a human barricade until their ex-teammate has no choice but to skate backward.
I lose track of what happens next as a sharp, piercing ringing begins in my ears.
The world becomes a blur of sensations.
The screaming crowd.
The intervening ref.
I blink and everything comes into focus again.
Theilan is arguing.
Coach is shouting loud enough to hurl a lung.
Graham skates to me and I push myself upright.
“You good, Campbell?” He asks, his eyes wild with concern and his hair sticking to his forehead beneath the cage.
I nod and look over at the commotion my teammates are making.
“We didn’t touch him!” Kinsey yells, shaking his stick. “We didn’t touch him!”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Kinsey so riled up.
The ref decides to let my teammates go with a verbal warning. However, because they stepped in and took matters into their own hands, Theilan’s punishment is lightened.
The scowl on McLanely’s face as he skates away tells me he thoroughly disagrees with the outcome, but I can’t talk to any of them because Coach calls me back to the bench and substitutes another player.
“You need a medic, Campbell?”
I shake my head, even as my leg screams. “Put me back in, Coach.”
He thumbs his nose. “Not yet.”
I wait on pins and needles, cheering for my team and waiting for my chance.
Just like he did at the scrimmage, Coach puts me back in when we’re down to the wire.
Now or never, Nat.
This could be my last game. I’m not going to let my leg define it.
Theilan is out of the sin bin too.
He smirks at me.
Anger flares brighter than the pain.
I move slowly and gingerly, baiting the old Lucky Strikers’ player. Letting him smell blood.
And he bites.
I receive the puck and the defender attacks. At the last second, I shift my weight, letting gravity propel him forward while I pull back. He overestimates my trajectory, eyes wide in confusion.
A flash of pride rises in me.
That opening is all I need.
Pain echoing harder than my heartbeat, I explode forward, pulling from somewhere deep within, somewhere that breathes for this sport.
Ignoring the howl from my leg that promises I won’t be able to walk after this one motion, I fire.
The puck slams into the net.
And I skate backward in absolute relief.
As the buzzer erupts, the other team’s fans—who make up most of the spectators—throw up their hands and boo in disappointment.
On the bench, my teammates explode to their feet.
Theilan circles around the net, staring in disbelief.
McLanely, Kinsey, Renthrow and the rest of the team rush toward me. Somehow, they know not to dog pile me and crowd around, chanting my name instead.
I revel in the glory.
In the exhilaration.
In the hard-fought exhaustion that only a sport like hockey can wring out of me.
And when I look into the thinning crowd, I see someone bounding down the stairs with an urgency that captures my attention. The woman’s ponytail bounces behind her and I recognize her even from this distance.
Riley.
She sees me looking in her direction and stops abruptly.
My lips inch up in a smile.
Heart stirring, I meet her gaze and tap my hockey stick on the ice.
I’m done, Riles. It’s you and nothing else now.
That’s when the pain I pushed aside throughout the game rises like a giant wave and crashes over me.
My body crumples.
“Campbell!” Chance yells.
I struggle to stay upright, but I can’t put any weight on my left leg.
Renthrow is close by and he guides my hand on his shoulder. “Keep close to me, buddy.”
I grit my teeth to shut down an agonized cry as the pain brings tears to my eyes. I fling my head back, staring into the dazzling arena lights.
“Medic! We need a medic!”
The losing team, that had been preparing to line up for the handshake ceremony, look on in concern.
“Is this because of Theilan’s dirty plays?” Coben demands, skating by while McLanely and Renthrow help me to the benches.
“Where is he?” Kinsey growls, spinning around.
McLanely grabs Kinsey’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him right now.”
Chaos erupts around me.
I hear Coach’s voice.
Max’s voice.
Then I’m being lifted up on a stretcher.
And in the midst of disjointed sounds, worried voices and the flash of overhead lights, I feel a soft hand slip into mine.
“I’m here, Nat. You’re going to be okay. I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I grip Riley’s hand as my eyes squeeze tightly shut.
I know what’s about to happen. The doctors will look at my leg and tell me I won’t be able to play hockey again.
Just like they did after my accident.
But this time, I’m going to rebuild my life around something other than my beloved sport.
I’m going to rebuild it around Riley.