Page 243 of Beautiful Collide

So instead, like the genius I am, I push through the pain.

Passes, shots, drills—I can’t do shit.

Everything hurts.

Everything sucks.

I can’t play.

My body is betraying me.

By the time I’ve circled the rink for the third time, my arm is throbbing, and sweat is dripping down my face despite the cold.

I glance toward where Molly stands now, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes meet mine. Wow! Even at our worst, she’s never looked at me like this.

I’m screwed.

Molly is about to rip me a new one for pushing my body too hard.

I skate toward her slowly.

Each move feels harder than the last.

My breath comes out in short, painful gasps.

When I reach the bench, I lean on my stick, trying to mask how my legs shake.

“Hudson,” she says softly, stepping closer. “You’re done.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though we both know it’s a lie.

She shakes her head, her expression fierce. “No, you’re not. You’re hurt, and you’re pushing yourself too hard. Get off the ice.”

I want to argue and tell her I’m fine and need more time, but the words die on my tongue. She’s right. I know she’s right.

With a heavy sigh, I skate to the bench and sit down, pulling off my gloves and cradling my injured wrist.

Molly sits beside me, her eyes scanning my face like she’s trying to read my thoughts.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I mutter, my voice bitter. “Practice starts in a week. If I can’t perform, I’m done.”

“Why are you pushing so hard? What’s going on? This is more than just about the team.”

My head dips down.

“Talk to me, Hudson.”

I let out a sigh. “It’s the farm.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid they’re going to lose it. I need the money to help them.”

Her hand brushes against mine, tentative but steady. “We’ll figure it out,” she says. “Together.”

I glance at her, the sincerity in her eyes cutting through the fog of my frustration. I let myself believe her.

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