Page 61 of The Fall
I force a breath, pull the chilled air down deep inside me. Blair taps my shin with his stick. A simple gesture.We’re good.And I am, for a breath. I am.
We line up for a draw. I narrow my focus to the puck, the referee’s hand, the twitch in the opposing center’s jaw.
The puck drops. Chaos blooms. I follow the black disc through a forest of legs and sticks. Hollow wins the draw, kicks it back. I collect it, head-up, seeing the lanes form and dissolve. I let the game flow through me. I’m a conduit for it, a vessel. One perfect play will erase the last flicker of disorientation.
Blair’s a flicker in my vision. His shadow crosses the line, and I feather the puck through traffic, a blink’s worth of hope on a string. He touches it once—tap, gather, heel-to-toe—and then slings it wingward on pure faith.
The world simplifies into a clear path to the net. Hayes barrels through the high slot, eats the pass like fate’s already written it. He bombs it low, a clap that smacks the goalpost and rings through my entire body.
For a shattering instant, the arena is silent, every breath held, every heart stuck between hope and heartbreak. I am heat, I am hollowness. The arena tilts like a ship hitting a swell.
The world explodes in light and noise. A wall of sound from the stands punches through me. Hayes screams, throws his arms wide, and crushes me in a hug that lifts my skates from the ice. Blair is there an instant later, wrapping his arms around us both,burying his face in my neck. His glove cups the back of my head, holding me close.
We did it. We fucking did it. These guys, this team. The season I can’t remember has led to this. I let out a scream from the bottom of my soul. We moved the world. We’re going to the playoffs.
“Told you.” Blair’s voice is thick and buried in my neck. “You and me, Kicks. Always.”
I cling to him. Right now, we’re invincible. Right now, we’re eternal. Fuck the rest; I have this, and I have him.
Remember.
The locker room erupts the moment we step through the door. Bodies collide, voices rise to a fever pitch, and the bass line of our victory playlist thumps through the floor. Gatorade arcs through the air in glistening orange streams, splashing against bare, sweating shoulders. Holloway whips his jersey over his head and lets out a howl. Hayes dumps melted ice over Axel’s head.
Coach steps in long enough to remind us we’re professionals before a rare smile cracks his face. “Outstanding effort tonight. Every single one of you. Enjoy this.”
My hands shake as I finally strip off my jersey. Something beneath my ribcage tightens, contracts.
“Hey.” Blair’s there suddenly, behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, still in his base layers. He hooks his chin over my shoulder, his stubble rough against my neck. “We fucking did it.”
I lean back into his warmth and bring my hands up to cover his where they cross my stomach. Everyone can see us. Everyone can see us, and I don’t care, and neither does he.
His lips brush my cheek. I turn into the contact, my brain finally quieting for a blessed moment.
Around us, the celebration continues unabated. Hollow glances our way and gives us a thumbs up before turning back to Nolan. Hawks raises an eyebrow and mouths what looks like ‘finally.’ The guys do a piss-poor job of pretending they hadn’t guessed. Not one face in the room carries a shadow of surprise.
Blair’s arms tighten. “Was that okay?” he asks, so quietly only I can hear.
“More than okay,” I say, turning in his arms. His smile, the one that starts in his eyes, slices right through me. For a brilliant, suspended moment, everything’s perfect. It is everything I ever wanted.
But the thump of the music grinds against my skull. The lights seem to flicker, too bright, buzzing. I lean my head back, rest it on Blair’s shoulder, try to draw his calm into me. It doesn’t work. The wrongness is inside me, a cold space that his warmth can’t reach.
It’s like I’m underwater, senses turned up too high. The air is oversaturated. My jaw tenses; the room spins faster. Sound swells and recedes. The roar of the music seems to shear away from its melody. The overhead fluorescents are knives of light, splintering off the wet concrete and the gleam of sweat on skin.
Inside, everything cracks, the pressure ratcheting up. Fear roars in my chest; my throat goes tight, my vision tunnels. My heart beats off-rhythm, chasing something I can’t catch.
Wrong. Something is wrong. I should be floating. Why does my stomach feel like it’s full of razors? I’m standing in the heart of everything I’ve ever wanted, and I feel a scream build behind my ribs.
“Hey,” Blair says, voice cutting through the noise. “You okay?”
I nod automatically. I’m fine. I’m fine, but I can’t fill my lungs all the way, and the edges of my vision flicker dark and light, dark and light.
The room shimmers, the edges blurring and stretching like waves crashing too hard against the shore. Faces blur, here, then not. Even the Gatorade sprays seem to slow, droplets suspended like stars.
Remember. I feel the word snag on the edges of my fracturing mind.
I stutter a breath, tripping over the inhale. Why here? Why now? This should be bliss, but my fear paints bold strokes over every corner of this triumph; it howls and claws at my insides.
“I need a minute,” I manage.
