Page 103 of Revolve
THIRTY-SIX
DYLAN
I NEVER THOUGHTI’d miss the smell of the locker room, but tonight as the team gets ready for the game, it soothes something in my chest.
We got back from Lake Placid a few days ago, so Lidia gave us some rest days since I’m playing in my first game of the season. We head onto the rink, and the applause gets louder when I make my round. I expected everyone to hate me after I left the team stranded. Despite that, I give them a show for the warm-up. I turn on the inside edge of my blade and land a triple Lutz, smiling at the crowd when they erupt. Coach doesn’t glare at me this time. Instead, he looks proud. I have a feeling it’s because Sierra and I placed second at the competition. But none of this applause makes me feel like it’s deserved when she’s not by my side.
Out here, I expected to find that missing puzzle piece, but it doesn’t fit. When I glide past the plexi, a hand with a smiley face on the palm is pressed against it. I skate to the boards to find Sierra sitting next to Scarlett, who’s wearing Ishida’s number seventy-six jersey.
“You better be wearing my jersey, Romanova,” I say loudly, mouthing the words for her when I tap the glass.
“You wish, Donovan.” But then she smiles, and when she uncrosses her arms, I see it. Number twenty. My number.
The game seems to fly by quickly. I’m faster on the ice, stay for longer shifts, maneuver around the players easily. But even with all that, right after I slide a puck into the net and we’re back on the faceoff, I don’t move quick enough to dodge Yale’s left-winger.
The impact of his body knocks off my helmet, and his high stick hits my chin. I feel the cut before I see the blood spill onto my jersey. My breathing slows, and anger rises. When I push the left-winger out of my way, hoping the blood stops, their defender comes at me.
When he drops his gloves, I drop mine too. He gets a good hit on my jaw, but I’m smirking when I’ve got him pinned in seconds. I throw a single punch, hard enough that he’s disoriented.
It’s almost like he waits for another hit, something he expects. It’s a known fact I don’t go down easy, and if someone’s coming at me, they better have enough stamina, because even the refs can’t pull me away. But today, it doesn’t feel worth it. That’s not me anymore.
The ref blows a whistle and announces the penalty. The Yale player gets a game misconduct for high-sticking, the defender gets five minutes for roughing, and I get ejected from the game. Of course I fucking do.
MY HEAD ISin my hands when Kilner and Hank, our team medic, exit the locker room. Even though the hit was aimed at me, I’ve been given the infraction. Coach told me it isn’t on me, but this is a terrible outcome for my first probationary game back. I’m pretty sure Reed and Dean Hutchins are in the box tonight.
The referees have always hated me. Freshman year, I was out for blood, and that reputation stuck. Half my penalties are bullshit, butI’m expected to keep playing and try not to get provoked enough to bephysical.
I know the team will decimate Yale, but I don’t care. I wasn’t mentally in the game, and now I think I know why. My phone dings from inside my locker, but when I stand up to grab it, I notice the blood staining my chest and abs.
BUNNY PATROL
Aiden Crawford:We just saw that on TV. Kilner should’ve challenged that.
Eli Westbrook:Yale always gets away with it.
Sunny:I’ve never seen a worse call. What a joke. Let us know if you’re okay. Everyone’s worried.
My first thought is Sierra having to see all that. I’m worried she finally made it to one of my games only to see the bloody ice and be reminded of her accident. Just as I’m going to call Sierra, the locker room door swings open and in walks an angry dark-haired girl. She’s wearing my jersey and a pair of light-wash jeans that hug her so perfectly, they steal my attention for much longer than I intend.
It’s when I finally realize that she’s here, in this locker room, walking up to a bloodied version of me, that I turn away. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I hear the retort before she speaks. “Don’t tell me where I shouldn’t be.”
Causing her any type of pain or messing with her head makes me feel sick, and I can’t have her see me like this when I know everything she’s been through. “You don’t need to see me like this, Sierra.”
“I don’t care,” she says quickly. Her hand rests on my bare shoulder, urging me to turn around.
“There’s a lot of blood,” I warn her. “Let me take a shower first.”
“I don’t care, Dylan,” she repeats. I’m not sure if she even realizes what she’s saying. “I want to see you. I want to know you’re okay. Can you do that for me? Please?”
This time her pull is stronger, and when I turn, her gaze snaps to my face, and I see her concern between her pinched brows. Her mouth is set in a pout as she lets out a strangled breath. The next thing she does is what knocks the breath out of me. Sierra wraps her arms around my torso and plants the side of her face right against my chest. Where the blood stains my skin. She saw the blood and she didn’t even flinch.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
Sierra tightens her hold on me like she can keep me together.
