Page 41 of Off the Ice

He glared at me, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say a word. Fine. If he wanted to sulk, that was on him. But if he cost us this game, it wasn’t just going to be me he had to answer to—it was the whole team. When the third period rolled around, we were locked at 2-1. My legs burned, and my lungs felt like they were on fire, but I couldn’t let up. Every shift mattered, every battle along the boards was a chance to make a difference. I caught a clean breakout pass from Connor, flew down the wing, and cut hard to the net, trying to stuff the puck past the goalie’s pad. He made the save, and the puck rebounded into the slot, but Darren wasn’t there to bury it. Instead, he was circling back toward the blue line, completely out of position.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted as I skated back to the bench.

Coach benched him for the next few shifts, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. The Colts caught us in a bad line change and scored the game-winner with just over a minute left on the clock.

When the final buzzer sounded, I ripped my helmet off and slammed it onto the bench. The locker room was silent as we filed in, the sting of the loss hanging heavy in the air. Guys muttered to themselves, slamming water bottles or stripping off gear in frustrated silence.

Darren slunk in last, his head down and his face pale. He didn’t say a word, just sat in his stall, staring at the floor.

I snapped.

“Alright, Rivers,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. “What the hell’s going on with you?”

The room went still. All eyes turned to Darren, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Don’t give me that,” I pressed, stepping closer. “You’ve been playing like shit for weeks. You’re costing us games. If something’s going on, say it. Otherwise, you’re letting this team down.”

Darren’s hands trembled as he clutched the edge of the bench. His voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. “Just—just nerves. I’ll do better.”

“Nerves don’t make you miss assignments,” I shot back. “They don’t make you play scared.”

“Logan,” Connor said from his stall, his tone a quiet warning.

I ignored him.

“Logan thats enough!" barked Connor who was now making his way between where Rivers and I were.

Darren’s face crumpled for a split second before he smoothed it over, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

"Fine, Fine," I relented, "clearly everything is fine."

***

After the team cleared out and the staff finished packing up the gear, I found Darren in the hallway, standing by himself with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“We’re not done,” I said, stepping into his path. “Talk to me.”

He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the exit like he was considering making a run for it. But then his shoulders slumped, and he nodded.

“Not here,” he muttered. “Let’s go outside.”

We walked out into the cold night air, the parking lot empty except for a few lingering cars. Darren leaned against a concrete pillar, his breath visible in the frosty air. He didn’t look at me when he started talking.

“They came to me during training camp,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Said they knew about my family’s debt. My dad’s business went under last year, and he’s still paying it off. They said they’d take care of it if I... if I helped them.”

My stomach twisted. “Helped them how?”

“Just small things at first,” he said, his voice shaking. “Missing a pass here, taking a penalty there. They said it wouldn’t hurt anyone, but... but it has. I didn’t think it would go this far.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” I asked, my voice hard.

“I don’t know,” Darren admitted, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s not like they told me their names. But they knew everything, about my family, about me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of his confession settling heavily on my chest. Darren was barely more than a kid, caught in a trap he didn’t know how to escape. But that didn’t make this any easier to stomach.

“You should’ve come to us,” I said, my voice tight. “To me. To Connor. Hell, even to Coach. We could’ve helped.”

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