Page 74 of Puck to the Heart
I was always responsible for myself before, and only me. I never had toleadbefore.
When Coach pulled me aside before boarding the plane and handed me the captain’s C, my stomach plummeted right through the bottom of my Jordans. It was what I wanted, and Coach put it right in my hand.
So why was the dread of the past twenty-four hours only curling tighter around my bones rather than going away?
Pre-game jitters weren’t new. Adrenaline built up and with nowhere to go, it spun around leaving tensions high and tempers higher. But this…this was new. The fear of fucking up. If the game went poorly, it would, at least partially, be my fault.
IfIcalled the shots, what if I called the wrong one?
I wanted so badly to do itright, but what if I didn’t? What if what if what if?—
The narrow hallway walls began closing in on me, and every sound but my breathing and heartbeat went away. Harsh and jagged, the sounds scraped against my ears as my vision narrowed to pinpricks. Blood rushed out of my head and hands, leaving me lightheaded and unable to grip my stick.
My pulse raced, the throbbing in my neck cutting off my circulation and air. The too-loud hacking of my breath disappeared, and I would’ve taken the painful sawing sound over the lack of oxygen in the room. Each time I tried to inflate my lungs, they squeezed as if an iron band wrapped around them.
Someone pushed me from behind, and I stumbled forward out the door and onto the ice. There, at least, muscle memory took over and I could breathe again.
At intermission, the Knights were down by two. Coach Olsen eyed me, trying to convey something with his eyebrows.
Right. I was acting captain; I was supposed to say… something.
“Allen, you missed that last shot, but Goldstein was open.”
“I thought I had it.”
“Did you not see Goldstein?”
“IthoughtIhadit, Wilder.”
“But you didn’t.” Shit. This wasn’t helping. Pushing the sweat-damp hair off my forehead, I knocked Allen with an elbow. “Look, we all know you can make any trick shot in the book, but not when someone’s marking you so closely. Take the shot to whoever’s open next time.”
I needed a way to bring them back, though, now everyone was scowling and turning away. I wished I could do the same.
“Um. Nice pass, though, on the next one. It went right over the goalie’s head.” A few yeahs and bumps on Allen’s shoulder pads. “D, nice block. That footwork was fancy.”
“I know, right?” Dante’s light brown eyes crinkled with his wide grin.
“And Martinson, your last goal was excellent. Keep it up.” They looked slightly less prepared to slit my throat with their blades. And that was a positive, at least. The only one.
“I need to keep my dumb ass out of the way when Goldstein makes a pass, and we’ll be golden.” Goldstein sent a beautiful shot down the center, and like an idiot, I skated directly in its path.
A few laughs from the guys, then the knot of players broke apart, scattering to find water bottles or take a breath.
“Not bad, Wilder.” Coach beckoned him nearer. “Next time try the compliment sandwich.”
“The what?” Someone pressed a water bottle into my hand, and I sprayed it in my mouth and over my face and hair.
Coach gave me an exasperated look when a few drops of water landed on his jacket. “A compliment sandwich. ‘You hit the first shot perfectly, then you tripped over your own ass halfway through, but you still got up and made the next goal.’ You drop in what they did wrong in between what they did right.”
“Ah, got it. Thanks, Coach.” I made a mental note for next time.
“Not bad, though, Cap.” Coach smacked a fist against the C on my chest.
Pride tingled through me, though the metallic tang of anxiety quickly replaced it. Because we had to do it two more times to finish the game. I had to get us through this somehow.
* * *
Back in my hotel room,I ordered room service and flopped across the bed. Methodically, I switched off all the lights in the room except the damn blinking alarm clock. I couldn’t unplug it; the cord snaked behind the headboard bolted to the wall. I debated ripping the thing apart so I could wallow in full darkness, but the assistant coach made it very clear there was a zero-tolerance policy on destruction of hotel property.
