Page 56 of Punchline
Dan appeared beside me. “Easy, Berns. Let me have a look.”
I nodded, and I gulped in air as I tried not to throw up.
Dan took one look at my hand and informed the refs I was leaving the ice. Then he was leading me toward the bench, steadying my arm as I skated and he walked.
“Just breathe, kid,” he said. “Keep breathing so you don’t pass out.”
Breathe… don’t pass out… right.
Except passing out sounded really fucking good in that moment because then nothing would hurt.
I didn’t pass out, though, goddammit. Dan led me into aroom across from the locker room and sat me down. One of the other trainers started unlacing my skates while Dan inspected my hand.
I peered down to see the damage for myself.
Aww, fuck.
That swelling was not good. Not good at all.
“Did I break it?” I sounded pathetic.
“That’s for the hospital to confirm.” Dan met my gaze, his expression grim. “But if I were a betting man, I’d say yeah, you broke it.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled, my head still swimming and my stomach still threatening to revolt. The other trainer got my skates off. Someone was making noise about summoning the on-site EMTs.
With my uninjured hand—which was shaking a lot more than I expected—I wiped sweat off my face. “Fuck my life.”
“Hey, look on the bright side.” The trainer grinned as he put my skates aside. “You won the fight!”
He was right. When we’d gone down, Vincent had been on the one to land on his back. I was pretty sure there’d been some blood on his face, too.
So, yeah. I’d won the fight.
I’d redeemed myself after that disaster of a fight earlier this season.
But as the EMTs came in to take me to the hospital…
I wasn’t so sure I’d say it was worth it.
CHAPTER 18
JAKE
The fight happened so fast.
That was what stuck with me, how quick it went by. One second Ethan was closing with that jackass, whoever he was, and then there was a flurry I couldn’t follow any better than the puck, and then they were on the ice. Ethan was on top, which was good, but then…
“Shit,” Carson muttered. “Shit, shit. That’s not good.”
Given that Ethan was being helped off the ice and looked about half a second from passing out, no, it wasn’t good. I was ready to stand up and go down to the locker room, but Carson put a hand on my arm to stop me.
“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s with the trainers. They’ll take care of him. We can’t get back there anyway while a game is going on.”
Oh right, the game. There were still seven minutes to play, and after the fight the rest of the fans were pumped, cheering and shouting as things restarted. I could honestly say that I’d never been less interested in hockey, though. All my thoughts were with Ethan.
“What happened right before they went down?” I asked Carson.
“I think Ethan threw another punch,” he said, then pulled out his phone. “Hang on, let me find the feed for the game, I bet people have already posted clips… yeah… ” He shared the screen, and there was a slow-motion video of Ethan hitting the other guy. High-high, then the fucker got his hands up and so Ethan went low—perfect, a double-tap that broke the guy’s posture, and then?—
