Page 77 of Playmaker

Besides, Coach Reilly was right about not letting it cause any disruptions on the team. With the All-Star break behind us, the playoffs were coming up fast. We needed to be focused as a team, especially in our division where every point counted. We’d been comfortably in third place since before the All-Stars, but Detroit was creeping up fast again. They were only four points behind us now, and they were on a winning streak. If we fell apart now, they’d knock us into the wild card slot before we knew it.

We’d lost to Chicago last night, and now we were up against Seattle. Wehadto win this one, especially since Detroit was playing Albuquerque, which had fallen apart after their strongstart in the League; they were now dead last in the Western Conference.

Fortunately, I knew how Seattle played, so I was ready for them, but holy crap, they were putting up one hell of a fight tonight.

Halfway through the game, neither team had scored. Both sides were making drive after drive, but not getting past the other’s defense. When they did get far enough for a scoring chance, the goalies played lights out. Seattle only had seven shots on goal. We only had nine.

Both sides were playing clean, too—there hadn’t been any penalties so far, and it wasn’t because the officials were letting things slide. Seattle always played a very disciplined game, as did Pittsburgh, so that was no surprise.

It was a grind, but we were determined, damn it. I didn’t want to lose to my old team, and Pittsburgh didn’t want to lose at all.

Seattle didn’t want to either, though, so we all continued fighting for every millimeter of ice.

They kept us hemmed into our end long enough to wear down both our offensive and defensive lines. Finally, though, Euli got the puck away and into the neutral zone, and our exhausted skaters sprinted for the bench. My line went over the boards. Lila and Sims joined us.

Seattle managed to get some fresh bodies on the ice, too, but they still had a pair of forwards who hadn’t been able to get off. They were tired, and we took full advantage.

Anastasia slapped the puck into the offensive zone. Laws, Lila, and I all zipped over the blue line, and after a brief battle against the boards, Lila had the puck. She sent it to me, and I fired it at the net. It didn’t go in, but the rebound got away from the netminder. Anastasia seized it before a Seattle forward could get on it, and she passed it to Sims at the point.

I turned, ready to call for the puck, but something else caught my attention.

I wasn’t usually dialed in to what the crowd was doing. I’d distantly notice if they were cheering or booing, and certain chants sometimes made it to my ears.

But every once in a while, there’d be a collective gasp and a ripple of concern. Even panic. Sometimes, if I was close enough to whatever had happened, I’d notice people banging on the glass, usually to get the refs’ attention.

It was that collective gasp coming from our defensive zone, followed by a whistle, that spun me around so fast I almost lost an edge.

Instantly, I zeroed in on one of my teammates who’d gone down by the boards. One of Seattle’s players stood over her, waving for the officials, who were hurrying that way. Connie, our trainer, was already on the ice and heading in the same direction.

Panic zipped through me, and I started in that direction as I quickly took stock of who was still standing, trying to figure out who’d gone down.

Sims… Laws… Anastasia…

Oh no.

Blood pounded in my ears as I crossed the ice toward the fallen player, and my stomach lurched up my throat as I confirmed what I’d already suspected:

Lila.

She was curled on her side, her face was contorted with pain. Connie was holding Lila’s leg still, but the other moved, dragging Lila’s boot along the ice as she writhed as much as Connie’s grip allowed.

My heart slammed against my ribs. The leg Connie was pinning was Lila’s bad leg.

Oh God. Please don’t let it be her knee…

Not that any injury was ideal, but her knee could only take so much more before hockey was no longer an option.

The way Connie was holding Lila’s leg, though, it had to be her knee. Maybe a hamstring or a quad? Something muscular instead of another tendon or ligament? At this point, a broken bone was probably more ideal than the alternative.

There was a little room beside Lila’s shoulder, and after I’d tossed my stick and gloves away, I crouched next her. “Hey. Hey, take it easy. Don’t move too much.”

Still grimacing, she managed to open her eyes and meet mine. She reached for my hand, then paused as if she’d realized she still had on her glove. She tossed it away and grabbed on to my hand. I returned her tight grasp, not sure if she needed reassurance or a distraction. Maybe both.

Connie peered up at Lila. “What did you feel when you went down?”

Lila swallowed like she was trying desperately not to get sick. “It… like something gave?”

“Did anything pop? Crack?”

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