Page 184 of Make Me Mean It

Nothing.

Theo doesn’t fucking move.

My chest tightens, my lungs suddenly refusing to fill properly as I stare at him.

“Come on.”

The words come out quieter this time.

Please.

“Get up.”

Players are gathering around him now, skates cutting sharply across the ice. Marcus is there almost immediately. The referee’s whistle shrieks somewhere in the distance and medics are already rushing out from the sidelines, but it all blurs together because I can’t stop looking at Theo.

At the way he fell.

At the way he’s still lying.

There’s something wrong with it. I’ve seen him hurt before. I’ve watched him bleed. I’ve watched him drag himself off the ice barely able to put weight on one leg and still argue that he could keep playing.

I’ve never seen him still.

I search for the rise of his chest.

I can’t fucking see it.

Ice floods through me.

I’m on my feet before I’ve even decided to move, the chair snapping upright behind me as I shove through the gate.

Someone catches the back of my shirt.

“Connor—”

I wrench myself free hard enough that the fabric bites into my throat and stumble straight onto the ice.

My trainers immediately slide beneath me, cold cutting straight through the soles, but I catch myself against the boards and keep moving.

I don’t give a fuck that I’m not supposed to be out here.

I don’t care who’s shouting at me.

Theo isn’t moving.

That’s the only thought my brain seems capable of holding.

Theo isn’t fucking moving.

I’m halfway towards him when Marcus skids into my path.

He stops directly in front of me, blocking everything behind him, and the expression on his face makes the panic already clawing through my chest turn vicious.

He looks scared.

Marcus never looks fucking scared.

“Turn around,” he says, grabbing my shoulder.