Page 111 of The Fall
“Look at thatbeaut!” It’s Hollow, of course. Then a wolf whistle rises from Divot’s direction. The locker room stills for a long second, and then the clapping starts.
The Nerf war victim has arrived.
“Yo, Kicks!” Hawks howls over the chaos. “You’re looking solid!”
“Who the fuck needs a slap-shot when you’ve got a Barbie arm?” Simmer shouts.
More laughter, more noise. My face heats until I’m sure I’m fluorescing as bright as this wrap job. I hold up the cast like I’m showing off a trophy. It’s ridiculous, but it worked for Lily, so fuck it. I’ll take the ribbing.
“Is that glitter?” Divot stands on the bench to get a better look.
“What the hell happened to you?” Reid is laughing, peering at my stickers.
“Gentlemen,” Hayes announces, striding to the center of the room. “Allow me to explain.”
He throws his arm around my neck and drags me close. He’s rocking his base layers and knee-high socks with slides, and his grin is a Cheshire’s slink.
God, here we go.
“Y’all don’t even know—don’t even know—what really went down with this hero yesterday. I’m in the ER, fuckin’ losing it with my baby girl and her broken arm. Erin’s stressing, Lily’s in meltdown mode, and then this guy—” He points to me, drawing it out. “This legend himself—” He sweeps a grand gesture from my head to my toes. “—waltzes into the hospital and decides, you know what? Being a hockey player isn’t badass enough.”
He’s in full showman mode. His voice rises, peaking in all the right places. “No, Kicks isn’t over here signing autographs or kissing babies. No, no. Thisherocomes in and sits down next to my wailing baby girl and tells the nurse he needs his own fucking cast, one that matches hers, because he wants to be one of the cool kids, too.”
Laughter roars. Even the trainers, who were halfway through packing up their gear, stop to look at me.
A voice calls out, “You serious, Kicks?”
“Dead serious,” Hayes booms. “My man saw a crying four-year-old and said there’s no way this kid’s going into cast life alone. Put me in, coach!”
I thread my uncasted hand through my hair, hoping to hide the flush still crawling across my skin. “It’s just a cast.”
“Just a cast? Kicks, you straight up told the nurse, ‘Hit me with the pink one.’ Tell me that isn’t the realest fucking thing you’ve ever heard?” Hayes spreads his arms wide, asking the room.
I cave finally, laughter slipping out. Hollow’s doubled over, slapping a towel across his knees.
Then Hayes regales the guys with the Epic Kitchen Nerf War, excruciatingly describing how I was felled by a hail of darts behind the cupboard door. “It was a Delta Force takedown!”
“Future team star, right there,” Hollow hoots.
“Better than her father!” Hawks and Hollow fist bump.
Hayes doesn’t even tap the brakes. “Kicks goes full-on death scene, and I amtellingyou, there was daylight between his soul and his body.”
Simmer stands and starts to clap. Hollow follows, and Hawks, then Divot. There’s more cheering, more whoops, and the guys climb onto the benches and holler and chant my name. I have never had this, never, not on any team. Torey Kendrick, emotional disaster. Torey Kendrick, chaos knight of Nerf wars.
Over the cascade of noise, I spot Blair.
He’s sitting in front of his stall, arms crossed. A fire burns low under all his cold steel and control, but a small laugh breaks from his throat, followed by the curve of his lips. His eyes, that steady lighthouse gaze, lock onto mine.
I can’t look away. His eyes hold me in place, and the room around us dims and blurs. We’re the only two points of clarity in a swirling fog. The corner of Blair’s mouth lifts a fraction more.
This is dangerous. This feeling spreading through me like wildfire is dangerous.
I manage a twitch of my lips in return, hoping it doesn’t betray the riot inside me. My pink cast is too tight. I flex my hand against the stiffness, needing a distraction from drowning in his stare. Hayes is still talking, but I’ve lost the thread completely. All I can focus on is the way Blair’s shoulders relax, how his hand taps a slow rhythm against his bicep, how his head tilts like he’s trying to figure me out. What conclusions is he drawing, what boxes am I checking or failing to check?
I force myself to look away, to nod at a point Hayes is making that I didn’t catch. I’m splintering, fractures running right to my soul.
The door swings open, and in barrels Coach, breaking the spell.
