33. McKinley
There’s nothing like having home advantage.
The roar of the crowd, the sea of yellow-and-black jerseys, the kids holding up signs with your name on it—there’s no feeling like it.
And winning always tastes a little sweeter when we’re playing against Philly.
I thought it’d be different playing against Chance now that we’re together; maybe we’d go easier on the other, or not fight as much. But it seems to have had the opposite effect. We’re all over each other, blocking shots, creating openings for our teammates, and playing better than we ever have. We’re explosive together on the ice. Then again, we’ve always been explosive off the ice as well. It’s almost like hockey is our foreplay.
“You look a little winded,” Chance shouts, his stick knocking into mine as he bumps me with his shoulder. “Tired already?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want me to make it easier for you?”
“Not a fucking chance.” He darts in front of me and steals the puck, skating off in the opposite direction.
He passes it to one of his teammates, but Alexander is there to intercept. He skates back down the ice and takes a shot between two of Philly’s defenseman.
The buzzer sounds, and I raise my arms overhead. “Fuck, yeah!”
The scoreboard changes: 1-0. The crowd is electric around us, cheering us on and booing the shit out of Philadelphia.
In the second period, our hits get harder, and Chance and I both spend some time in the penalty box. He grins at me with his bloody mouth, his dark eyes shining with the promise of what’s to come when we get home later.
But there’s aggressive plays, and then there’s illegal hits—and that’s where Chance’s teammate, Ivanov, pushes the line. He plays like he doesn’t give a fuck whether he gets ejected from the game, or fined for his attitude. And tonight, he’s pissed that his team can’t seem to score.
I’m flying down the ice with the puck toward the Sharks’ goalie with Ivanov practically up my ass. His stick juts out under my skates and trips me up. He’s not even trying to get the puck—he wants me to fall.
Where the hell is the ref?
Alexander glides alongside him and shoves him out of the way, allowing me the space to surge ahead. I make an attempt on the goalie, but Chance is there to stop it. He takes it all the way to Trenton, but my goalie stops it like he always does, and passes it to Alex.
And then Alexander shoots across the rink like lightning.
The crowd is deafening. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to get ahead of him to set up the play. Chance is right behind him though, and Alex can’t make a safe pass without losing the puck. He takes it around the back of the net, but Chance runs him into the boards trying to steal it.
Alexander is one talented motherfucker though, and he manages to get out from under Chance’s pressure. With his head down, he focuses on getting into position to make another winning goal. With Chance right behind him, it’s a risky move, but I have faith in my captain.
As a winger, it’s my job to work with the center—which would be Alex—in order to make a play happen. I’m supposed to be a step ahead of everyone else, seeing opportunities and creating openings to score.
Somehow, I don’t see this coming.
Ivanov whizzes past me, making a direct line toward Alex and Chance. He doesn’t slow down as he approaches them, and Alexander is too busy trying to escape Chance and score to notice.
What the fuck is Ivanov doing?
My voice catches in my throat as I freeze, realizing what’s happening only milliseconds before it happens.
“Stop!” I shout.
But it’s too little too late.
Ivanov slams into Alexander head-on. It’s a hard hit, and the crowd gasps as the air leaves my lungs. Alex is sandwiched between Ivanov and Chance, and it’s so forceful that the three of them propel backward.
Alexander’s helmet flies off just before he lands on his back, and his head bounces off the ice.
Fuck.
I drop my stick and my gloves, and toss my helmet as I make my way toward them. I reach Ivanov first, and I lift him off the ice by his jersey and rip off his helmet so I can pummel his stupid, smug face.
That was an illegal hit, and nobody touches my captain and gets away with it.
Both teams erupt in a fight, and I’m in such a blind rage that I don’t realize what’s happening around me until Jason pulls me off of Ivanov and shouts, “Alex is hurt.”
I drop Ivanov and my eyes dart to Alexander. He’s lying on his back, eyes closed, his arms and legs sprawled out and unmoving.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
Get up.
Open your eyes.
I crouch down beside him. “Hey, big guy. You good?”
He doesn’t move.
I nudge him gently. “I know Giuliana had you up late last night, but you can’t nap in the middle of the game.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Come on, Alex. Time to get up.”
Come on, Alex.
Open your eyes.
I glance up at our teammates, and each of them are wearing the same worried expression.
The medical team comes out onto the ice, and Jason pulls me away to give them space.
It feels as if time stops while we wait for them to finish checking Alex. I watch helplessly as they secure a neck brace on him, and then haul him onto a stretcher. A pool of red stays behind where his head just was. I stand frozen as they carry him off the ice.
His eyes still haven’t opened.
Jason tugs on my jersey. “Come on. He’s going to be okay. Let’s finish this game so we can get to the hospital.”
Hospital.
They’re taking him to the hospital because he hasn’t opened his eyes.
Bile rises in my throat as my thoughts immediately land on sweet Giuliana’s face. What is she going to think when she hears her father is in the hospital?
My head jerks up to find Aarya in her seat behind Trenton’s goal. Standing with her hands pressed against the glass, she looks beyond terrified—which is something I’m not used to seeing on her.
Ignoring the referee’s whistle blows, I skate toward the wives in the stands.
I hold up my palm and press it to the glass. “He’s going to be okay.”
A tear slips down Aarya’s cheek. It’s a lie. She knows it, and I know it. We don’t know if Alexander is going to be okay.
All I know is that an incident like this didn’t need to happen. It wasn’t necessary. Sure, players get hurt on the ice all the time, but two players purposely slamming into him like that? That was calculated, and violent.
I swing my gaze to Chance.
The man I love just played a part in hurting my best friend.
On purpose.
My skates move before I even realize what’s happening. Trenton yanks me back by my jersey, but I shake him off.
Fuck this.
Chance knows I’m coming for him. He even doesn’t try to defend himself. I launch myself at him, and slam my fists into his face over and over again.
Someone tries to pull me back, and I can hear voices shouting at me, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
All I can see is Alexander’s lifeless body on the ice.
Finally, Chance pushes me off of him, and throws a punch at my jaw. “It was an accident, Stephen.”
“The fuck it was!” I swing again but the referee gets to me before my fist can connect.
“Let’s go. Into the box.”
On my way into the penalty box, I steal a glance at Ivanov. Wearing a devilish grin, he shoots me a wink.
And I fucking snap.
I throw punches as fast as my arms will allow me to, making sure I get in as many hits as I can before the ref stops me.
“Enough!” he yells in my ear. “You’re out of the game. Go cool off.”
I shove past Ivanov, and leave my team on the ice, down a captain and now down a winger.
But I can’t seem to care.
I need to get to the hospital.
Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Brain surgery. Coma.
I couldn’t understand half of the shit the doctor said, but I did make out those terms. My best friend is in a coma, all thanks to my boyfriend and his teammate.
“We’re heading home.” Jason pats me on the back. “You coming?”
I shake my head, staring at the tile floor. “I’m going to stay with Aarya. See if they’ll let me back to see him after her.”
Celeste squeezes my hand. “Let us know if anything changes. We’ll be back in the morning.”
After the team clears out of the waiting room, I take out my phone and click on Presley’s name.
She answers after the first ring. “Hi. How is he?”
“He’s breathing on his own, but he’s still in a coma.”
“Fuck.” She pauses. “Dominique said she can stay with the kids. I’m coming to see you.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“Why not? I don’t want you sitting there by yourself.”
“The team is still here,” I lie. “Stay home. I’ll update you if I hear anything new.”
“I’m so sorry, Stephen.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Chance is sorry too.”
Anger spikes in my veins. “Is he there with you?”
“No, but I spoke to him. He’s really upset. He didn’t mean to?—”
“Didn’t mean to? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course he meant to. He and that piece of shit Ivanov wanted to hurt Alex. They always play dirty, and this time they took it too far.”
“Stephen,” she whispers. “You have to know he didn’t want this.”
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, at a complete loss for words. I saw the play; I saw the way they teamed up to hit Alexander from both sides. Presley might be able to believe that Chance didn’t do it on purpose, but I know better. It’s what he does, what he’s capable of. He has anger issues. Always has.
And now my best friend has to pay the price.