Page 54 of One Touch

A hard shove broke the zombie state I’d fallen into, and I followed my line onto the ice. My movements were mechanical as I skated, and the game whipped by me at a rapid pace.

“My granny skates faster than you,” someone chirped.

“Head in the game, Silver!” Coach shouted, shaking me out of the daze.

I shoved all my fears to the back of my mind and focused on the game—the ice and the puck.

Miraculously, I spotted an opening and stole the puck. I flipped it on my blade and spun around toward the goal. LA closed in, but I could feel Miller’s presence to my right, so with a quick glance over my shoulder, I faked left before shooting it right into Miller’s path. Yes! He drew back to shoot when he was checked from behind and went flying across the ice face-first.

Horror filled my veins as he bounced and red smeared the ice. Sound was replaced with the thumping of my heart as I skated closer. Miller pushed himself up with one hand and used the other to cup his jaw. “Got cut,” he mumbled.

The relief was short-lived as anger took its place. I had never been a violent player. Sure, there were times I shoved players harder into the boards than necessary, but I wasn’t one to fight or resort to cheap tricks. It was beyond a Silver to lower themselves to those standards.

But as the knowledge he was okay filtered through, all my thoughts turned to Eriksson. The game no longer mattered. Being a Silver held no merit. The only pulsing need in my head was making him pay for hurting what was mine.

Mitts and my stick were dropped, and I launched myself at him. I took him by surprise, giving me the opportunity to strike first. My knuckles ached with each punch, but I didn’t dare stop. His fist connected with my eye.

Damn. That stung. Why did people do this?

I hit him one more time before our teammates pulled us apart.

The ref gave us both a major penalty—him for checking from behind and me for fighting. I called bullshit on mine, but it was too late to argue.

Head down, I skated to the penalty box. I hadn’t stepped foot in one my entire professional career, and now that was changing. All because I’d had sex and couldn’t separate pleasure from feelings. I was pathetic.

I didn’t even try to seek out Miller. I was too afraid of what I’d see there. So I sat with my head down in the penalty box for the last five minutes of the game. When the goal sound echoed around the stadium and the home crowd roared, my defeat only grew.

It was my fault. I’d lost us this game. I’d failed the team.

A minute later, the door to the penalty box opened, and I skated after my team as they exited the ice. I kept my eyes averted, not wanting to see the disappointment and anger I was certain to see reflected in their eyes.

“Hell of a hit, Silver,” Samson said, knocking my shoulder.

My head flew up. “What? You’re not mad?”

His face scrunched up in confusion. “Only that you beat me to it. I was right behind you. Fucker had it coming all game. Homophobic piece of shit.”

So, I hadn’t been wrong in my assumption. He had been targeting Miller and Bell. Fuck.

To my surprise, several other teammates patted me on my back and up-nodded me as I entered the locker room. I dressed quickly, hoping to avoid any confrontation with Coach. It had nothing to do with wanting to check on Miller.

My attempts at avoidance were thwarted, though, and Coach pulled me into his office before I escaped.

“Have a seat, Silver.”

“Sir, I’m sorry?—”

“Stop. I’m not here to yell at you, but I also can’t condone fighting in front of the whole team.”

“Oh.”

He smirked. “Being a good captain means standing up for your teammates. I can only guess that Eriksson doesn’t like that we have two out players.”

“It’s bullshit?—”

He raised his hand to stop me. “However, unless the two he targeted come forward and draw up a complaint, there isn’t much to be done. The league is firm in its stance, but Miller and Bell must be willing to go through the ordeal. It’s their choice.”

“That’s not fair or right.”

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