AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I just mean you don’t look like your typical egotistical little bitch-ass self.”
“Yeah. Had a pretty shitty week.”
“What’s up?” he asks, worry covering his face, his teasing gone.
I look around for a moment, making sure no one else is around. Not that anyone could hear me even if they wanted to. This arena is noisy as fuck, and both our teams are on opposite sides of the ice, warming up, as Zanders and I stay facing each other at the centerline.
“Logan was in a car accident.”
“Fuck,” he quickly says, his eyes widening. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she will be,” I tell him, partially reminding myself. “It was pretty fucking bad, though.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been talking to you all week. I feel like a dick not knowing.”
“You are a dick,” I remind him.
“Is she here at least?”
“No. She had to have surgery because of it, so she can’t travel right now.”
“Fuck, man. That sucks.”
“She was pregnant,” I admit, my gaze finding the ground and the guilt knocking the wind out of me once again. “And we lost it.”
“Shit,” Zanders exhales, his face dropping. “Fuck, Maddison. I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t be here. I should be back home right now. I feel so guilty about everything, and now here I am, playing hockey. Who the fuck cares about hockey?”
“You do,” Zanders quickly counters. “I get that it doesn’t feel all that important right now, but you fucking care, and you know it.”
I stay silent, unsure of what to say.
“And Logan cares,” he adds. “I know for a fact that your girl would have you by the balls right now if she heard the way you were trying to throw this opportunity down the drain.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You used to have panic attacks thinking you were never going to make it in the NHL, so I know you still fucking care.”
Before I can respond, whistles are blown, and both our teams find their way to the bench.
“Watch your back,” Zanders says with a smile as he skates his way to the bench. “I’m coming for you, asshole.”
“Good luck catching me, dick.”
Before I take a seat on the bench, my gaze falls to the glass wall behind it. And all it does is remind me of Logan sitting behind my bench back in Minnesota and our pre-game ritual of her hand meeting mine, the plexiglass between us. And my heart sinks at the thought that she’s not here to do it.
With her face taunting my mind, I take a seat just as the game begins.
My knees won’t stop bouncing as I wait for my line’s turn to hit the ice. I’m on the fourth line, which is entirely expected. Even though I was the big fish in a little pond back in Minnesota playing college hockey, things are different at this level. The game’s speed is exponentially quicker, the hits are more brutal, and the stakes are higher than anything I’ve experienced before.
But I can keep up. I know I can. I’m as fast as any other player on the ice. I just need to get out there and prove it.
And just as that thought crosses my mind, it’s my line’s shift on the ice. I hop the boards, skating swiftly up the ice as I center my line. My team settles the puck on our offensive side, working it around. One of our defensemen takes a shot, deep from the blue line, and my job as the center is to pick up that rebound.
I spot the puck sitting on the ice after it bounces off the goalie’s pads, but just as I go to clean it up, Logan’s bruised face pops into my mind, and the next thing I know, I’m getting pummeled to the ground by one of Chicago’s d-men.
I stand up and shake off the hit as I also try to shake off the guilt that won’t leave me alone. It presses into me, slowing me down as I try to focus on the game I’m currently in, but I can’t. All I can think about is her.
