Page 84 of Player Problems

Apparently, she doesn’t have to. My best friend lifts her head from my shoulder and sighs. “Torryn doesn’t talk about these things usually,” she starts to explain and I look down at her in confusion, wondering where she’s going with this. “But it’s not because it’s hard for her, she just doesn’t have much to say about it.”

At least she gets me. I shrug again and I’m starting to worry I may end up giving myself back problems from how much I keep doing it. Can you even do that? “It happened a long time ago,” I defend. It’s not like my heart is still breaking for a father I don’t even remember. I wouldn’t even recognize the man if he was in front of my face. “Oh look, the boys are coming back out.” At last the focus drifts away from me and back to the ice as the game resumes in the second period.

The score is still 0-0, but our guys have possession of the puck and there’s something extra in the way they move coming back out. As fast as they were before, they seem to be skating circles around the other team, rarely ever giving up possession. Wells is the first to take a shot, but the Blackstone goalie is able to deflect his shot and pass it back to their defense. The player barely has any time to hand it off to his offense before James is stealing it back. Baylor turns on a dime and drives up the ice, ready for the pass just as James sets it up perfectly. The burly defender from Blackstone moves to interfere, but rather than going for the puck, he slams Baylor up against the boards. The resounding crash rattles the boards so intensely, I feel it in my bones and fear races through me.

Baylor’s body bounces back as he crashes into the ice and rolls. I don’t even realize the grip I have on Isla’s arm until shejumps up, cheering as red lights flash and a horn blares. James skates over to where Baylor is still on the ice, helping him up.

“What the fuck just happened?” I ask, not able to tear my eyes away from where Baylor was just laying only a second ago.

Isla looks at me confused. “Baylor just had a great assist and Wells scored. Were you not watching?”

I was watching Baylor be fucking assaulted, is what I was watching. I scour over the players patting each other on their helmets until I find number 89. Him and Wells are bumping knuckles as they fall back onto the bench as a couple other players I’m starting to recognize take their places.

I shake my head, trying to catch my breath and convince myself he’s totally fine. “Was that not just a really hard hit?” I ask. I’ve seen it happen to other players, but I don’t think I’ve seen a hit that hard. Definitely not Baylor taking one.

Dylan leans forward. “Definitely a dirty hit,” he agrees.

Jackson scoffs at his side. “What do you expect from BSU?”

Their mom pats my knee. “He’s fine, dear. He saw him coming and got the pass off just in time.”

How did I miss that? I run back through the memory, but all I can see is the defender slamming into Baylor and his body hitting the wall with full force. It was like everything else in that moment ceased to exist. Fucking hell. Hockey is not for the faint of heart.

“You get used to it,” she whispers in my ear. I have no idea how you get used to it. My heart still feels like it’s about to race right out of my chest and take a vacation on the beach. I force my hands to unclench and ignore the way they slightly tremble as I rub my hands over my jeans.

I excuse myself for a bathroom break, just as our boys take the ice again. Everyone around us is too locked in to the game to really pay any attention to me getting up and squeezing out of our row. I just need a second to catch my breath. I can’t explainjust what made me feel so rattled, as if I had been the one to take that hit.

Sure, it was definitely the worst hit I’ve seen any player take in the whole two games I’ve watched. But I can’t seem to stop seeing it repeat in my head. Baylor could have really been hurt. I guess that’s why they wear so many pads.

Washing my hands, I take a couple of deep breaths and shake the thought from my head. It was just a surprise, but everyone is fine. There’s no reason to be stuck on one little play. I wish I could splash water on my face, but it would totally fuck up my makeup and I worked way too hard and look far too good to even risk it.

Sighing, I turn off the water and dry my hands, a new determination to put these feelings aside and enjoy the rest of the game. How many more will I really be able to go to this season? I can’t take off every weekend.

Just as I’m walking out of the bathroom, I’m nearly run down. A hand reaches out to grab my arm in order to steady me, but the grip tightens after I get my feet back under me. “Thanks,” I say, gently tugging my arm away and looking up to find an older man in an orange beanie staring at me.

“You okay?” he asks in a gravelly tone that sounds like he’s a two pack a day type of smoker. At my nod, he smiles. “Should be more careful.” I tug on my arm again, and he loosens his grip but keeps his hand cupped around it. “Never know?—”

He’s cut off when Xander rushes up to us, wrapping his arms around me and physically lifting me away from the stranger. “There you are, T! We couldn’t find you, but Baylor just scored.” His voice is louder and far more excited than I’ve ever heard from him before, making my guard raise even higher.

“Oh, yeah?”

He nods, putting me down and holding my hand to tug me in the opposite direction of our seats. “Cheryl is looking for you.”

“Cheryl?” I ask, following behind him even as I glance back, but I can’t see the stranger anywhere.

“Baylor’s mom,” he responds, heavy with skepticism. “Don’t tell me you’ve spent practically the entire day with her and never even learned her name.”

I tear my eyes away from the crowd to face him, but I can’t actually argue that. As soon as we turn the corner, he drops my hand and pushes me into a corner. His voice drops the fake friendly tone as he practically growls at me. “I can’t believe you just took off alone!”

“It was just to the bathroom,” I defend.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “And yet, you had some creep feeling you up in the middle of the arena.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. Sure, the old guy was definitely a weirdo. I mean who just holds someone’s arm like that? “I feel sorry for your girlfriend if you think a bicep is where you feel a girl up.”

His lips turn even further down and I didn’t know it was possible to frown that intensely. He should get that checked. “Hilarious,” he deadpans. “But if I had a girlfriend, there are plenty of things you should feel bad for her about, but my sexual prowess is not one. Got it?”

“Rawr,” I deadpan right back, making a claw with my hand.

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