Page 69 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

“You too, Blake.”

Tiptoeing around a few LAU personnel, I sidle up to Russ and pray he doesn’t notice I’ve been absent in the first place. Not that I think it’ll work. I swear the guy has eyes in the back of his head and sees everything. The good. The bad. And the ugly.

“You good?” Russ asks. His arms are crossed, and his eyes are glued to the players as Colt, Theo, and Logan skate across the blue line and into enemy territory. But I can tell Russ is watching me from his periphery. Studying my mannerisms. Reading me better than I can read myself.

“Yup,” I reply, ignoring Theo as he skates past me. “Doing great.”

“Good.”

I watch as Colt shoots the puck toward the goalie, but he blocks it with his leg pads. The crowd groans. Theo catches the rebound and passes the puck back to Colt, but he misses it, and the Razors advantage, chipping it off the board toward their left wing on the other side of the ice.

“Come on, Colt,” I mutter under my breath. He shouldn’t have missed the pass. He never misses a pass. His head isn’t in the game. The question is…why? I didn’t hear what the team was talking about before they made their way onto the ice, but clearly, it’s gotten into Colt’s head and is messing with him.

Does he know?

There’s no way. Theo wouldn’t’ve told him. He doesn’t have a death wish. But Theo had the cash, which means he had to have been paid by someone, right? And if he was paid in the locker room, there’s a chance––a good one––Colt saw the exchange. Would he have asked about the money? Honestly, I don’t know. Guys are kind of oblivious sometimes, aren’t they? The questions swirl in my brain, making me sick to my stomach as my attention shifts to Theo. He looks pissed. Anxious. So does Colt. Logan, however, looks right as rain. And Burrows? The guy glares at me on the bench, causing my stomach to flip-flop all over again.

Shit.

I fold my arms and force myself to find the puck on the ice, desperate for a distraction, for something to take my mind off the pressure in my chest or the way the world feels like it’s closing in on me.

The Razors’ center dodges a distracted Depp and skates right past him, passing the puck to number 42 on the opposing team. Before Tukani, LAU’s goalie, has a chance to stop him, the right wing smacks the puck into the top left side of the net, scoring a goal.

Curses erupt in the arena, along with a few cheers from the Razors’ fans scattered in the seats.

Colt’s head hangs, and he skates back into position at the center of the rink, preparing for another shot at scoring. Once he gets the puck, the opposing team rushes him, leaving Theo wide open. Colt ignores him, going head-to-head with two defensemen but loses the puck at the last second.

Again.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sanderson yells while boos echo throughout the stands.

“Come on, Thorne! He was wide open!” someone in the audience screams.

The man has a point.

Coach benches Colt a few minutes later after another screw-up, and Burrows takes his place as center. With a loud crack, Colt chucks his helmet against the half-wall separating the bench from the ice and collapses onto the stretch of seats. Clearly, the guy’s upset. Which isn’t like him. He’s usually pretty levelheaded, especially when he’s on the ice. He isn’t known for fighting or spending a lot of time in the penalty box. But right now? He looks seconds from punching someone, and his sights are set on his best friend. Colt throttles the hockey stick balancing between his bent knees, his hair damp with sweat as he glares at Theo on the ice. My attention shifts between them a few more times, my pulse thrumming faster and faster.

He knows.

He has to.

Depp steals the puck from the Razors’ left wing and passes it to Burrows. He skates over the blue line but snubs a wide-open Theo, too, passing it to Logan instead. Within a millisecond, Logan is slammed against the glass by the Razors’ defenseman who was right freaking next to him.

Good one, Burrows.

The puck is chipped off the board fast as lightning, gliding across the blue line and back into enemy territory.

“Come on! Get your head in the game! Theo was wide open!” Coach yells. With his face red and angry, he waves his clipboard toward the team captain who’s been completely ignored since the first whistle blew. Meanwhile, Theo looks like he’s about to blow a gasket as he skates toward Burrows, the game forgotten. When they reach each other, they both start talking, their postures practically feral. The crowd is so loud it’s blocking out whatever’s being said between them, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it isn’t good. Burrows slams his stick against the board, and pushes off the ice, skating even closer while Theo moves a couple of feet back, keeping distance between them without actually retreating. Nope. The guy is about two seconds from losing his shit in front of everyone and is just waiting for Burrows to throw the first punch as Burrows flings his gloved fist toward the bench.

“Not sure what’s going on between twenty-one and thirty-three on the home team, but––whoa! Looks like there’s a fight about to break out between teammates,” the announcer says over the speakers.

Burrows shoves at Theo’s chest, and Theo grabs onto his jersey, ready to throw a punch when Depp and Tukani intervene, tearing the two apart. The referee blows his whistle and announces a delay of game penalty on LAU.

Theo and Burrows head to the penalty box on the opposite side of the rink, leaving Logan to fend for himself as our only offensive player for the next two minutes. The combination only makes Coach more frustrated. He paces back and forth in the small space behind the players, cursing under his breath as the opposing team scores another goal on Tukani a minute later. Sanderson calls for a timeout, and the players on the ice skate toward the bench.

When everyone’s gathered, Coach slams his clipboard against his thigh and seethes, “What the hell was that about? Do any of you know?”

“Ask Blake,” Logan suggests, tilting his head toward me. “Or Colt,” he adds, but the bastard’s smart enough to not look at him. Pretty sure if he did, there’d be two more Hawks in the penalty box.

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