Page 92 of What if It's Us

“The fuck, Dayne?” Harrison shouts when I miss his pass, the puck zipping right by my stick and into the hands of the other team.

“Dammit,” I hiss, slamming my stick against the boards.

“Hey, Dayne!” Magallan shouts. “You skating with cement in your socks today or what?”

I force a breath and shake my head. “Yeah. My bad.”

“Get it together, man!”

We line up for the next face-off, Oliver Magallan crouched low. I know I’m supposed to be his defender. I know the job I’m supposed to be doing, but fuck, if my mind isn’t anywhere but here.

What if I lose control likehedid?

What if this baby sees the worst in me before I even figure out who I am?

The puck drops.

The opposing center wins it clean and rockets up the ice. I chase the hell out of the puck, legs burning, heart thudding harder with every stride…but it’s not all from the exertion.

It’s straight up fear.

Alberta scores

The horn blares. Fans groan. Hunched over, I try to catch my breath, fists clenched in my gloves.

I’ve got to get off the ice.

I’m fucking up left and right.

I’m no good to my team tonight.

I skate to the bench, avoiding everyone’s eyes because I know damn well the looks I’d be getting if I glanced at anyone. Coach walks past me and claps a hand on my shoulder but doesn’t say a word.

Fuck.

Not even a “Get your shit together” from Coach?

I’m in trouble.

I plop down with a thud, pulling at my helmet strap and still trying to regulate my breathing. Darius Clayton, our trainer hands me a water bottle, but I don’t drink a thing because I’m not certain it will stay down at the moment. That’s how queasy my stomach feels.

Instead, I stare mindlessly at the ice trying to calm my fears both rational and irrational. I watch the action swirling around me but can’t for the life of me say where the puck is or was or where it’s going.

And when Ollenberg hits the boards right next to me, my gaze is pulled to a little girl in the front row on the other side of the glass. She’s maybe six years old and wearing a mini version of my jersey. She’s holding up a sign made with markers and blue glitter that reads GO LEDGER DAYNE! YOU’RE MY HERO!

My eyes lock on hers as she waves, beaming at me like she’s just won the fucking lottery. Like her biggest dream just came true.

Her biggest dream being to see me play hockey.

I blink hard and something in my chest cracks open. Not in fear, but in recognition.

This little girl doesn’t know me.

She doesn’t know my past.

She doesn’t care about my doubts or my fears.

She just believes in me.

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