Page 44 of Puck'n Bully
We’ve barely played for half an hour and my legs are already burning. My lungs are demanding more oxygen and my muscles are screaming with every move.
The puck whizzes past me. I try to block it with my stick but miss it.
“Focus, Bastian!” Coach roars from somewhere nearby. “That’s the tenth time you missed the puck!”
There’s no denying it anymore.
I’m off my game today.
Mitchikov skates close to me and pats me on the back. “You can do this, Bastian. I know you can!” He tries to pump me up but I’m missing the energy and drive to care for anything today.
Coach Sullivan narrows his eyes at me, his mouth pressed tightly in anger and frustration. Looking away, I focus on our goalie. Logan is shooting me looks like he’s waiting for me to finally snap out of whatever stupid daze I’m in.
I’m trying but I’m failing to focus on the game before me.
My mind is far from the ice-skating rink today and focused on a blue-eyed nerd.
Liam.
Liam smiling at some other guy.
Liam looking at me like I mean nothing to him.
Liam walking away from me.
A mix of rage and desperation flows through me. I clench my jaw, gripping my stick hard, trying to erase the image of some other guy smelling Liam’s golden curls.
Liam is mine!I scream internally.No one gets to touch what’smine!
Closing my eyes, I breathe hard, trying to focus on my teammates. This is not the time to think about Liam. I need to focus on the game so that we can win against Silverlake.
Yes, I can do this, I tell myself.I can fix this. I just need to—
“Hayden! Heads up!”
I barely have time to react before something slams into me. Hard.
My world tilts, the ice rushing up toward me too fast.
And then—pain.
A sharp, burning pain shoots through my shoulder as I hit the ice. My stick skids away, leaving me flat on my back. My vision blurs for a second, and the voices around me sound distant and muffled.
“Shit, dude, you okay?” Logan is kneeling beside me, his brows furrowed in concern.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard against the pain and frustration. Mitchikov and his cousin grab each of my arms and haul me to my feet.
My vision swims as I struggle to stay on my feet. Why did this have to happen right before the game with those assholes from Silverlake U?
“You need to rest today, Bastian,” Coach Sullivan says as my teammates hold me up. “I can’t have you distract the rest of the team.”
“Yes, Coach,” I grate through clenched teeth.
“Come over here,” he says, snatching me away from my teammates.
He guides me outside the rink and stops. “What is up with you?” he asks in a grim tone.
“Sorry, Coach. I’ll do better at our next practice.”
