This Bria situation was proving to be more difficult.

And resisting Jock’s sister wasn’t getting any easier either.

Chapter 8—In the Air

~~Axel~~

The next night was game night at home.

The Sockeyes had lost their last three and sorely needed this win. At the start of the third period, the game was tied at one goal each. I was playing on the second line with Easton and Ziggy. We were starting to gel, and I was close to finding my grove.

As we streaked down the ice, Ziggy flicked a pass to Easton, but one of the Arizona defensemen deflected the pass, and Locke from Arizona jumped on it. We reversed and gave chase, as Locke powered toward the net. Just as he got there, he spun sideways and shot. Then all hell broke loose. His blades didn’t catch ice but slipped out from underneath him, sending him skidding toward the net. Brick, poised to block the shot, wasn’t in a position to deflect the hit coming his way. Locke slammed into him, and Brick’s helmet flew off from the force of the impact.

I watched in abject horror with the rest of my team as our star goalie lay immobile on the ice. Blood ran from his nose and a gash on his head where Locke’s blades had slashed him. Brick’s right wrist rested on the ice bent at an angle no wrist should ever bend at. The scene was gory and heart-stopping. As a team, we helplessly gathered in a circle while the trainers and team doctor rushed to Brick’s side.

This was not good.

Brick wasn’t moving, but I saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d been knocked out, and they were stabilizing his neck as if concerned for his spine. I watched for any sign of movement, a twitch of his skates or the bending of a finger.

The longer he lay immobile, the more concerned we became. He was more than a kick-ass goalie. He was our friend, our comrade in arms, our safety net in a storm—no pun intended. When the team had a bad night, Brick stepped up his play to make up for the rest of us.

After what seemed like a lifetime but was only a matter of minutes, a stretcher was brought out, and Brick was loaded into an ambulance. He lifted his hand in a salute just before they carted him away. The team breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The referees signaled for play to resume, and Coach swapped lines. Those of us who’d been on the second line had been on the ice and witnessed the crash up close. We were visibly shaken, and I suspect Coach wanted to give us time to get our collective act together. I sat down on the bench and did my best to get ahold of myself.

“Do you need a towel?” said a voice in my ear. My body immediately responded to the sound. I turned slightly to see Geneva leaning close with a towel in her hand. I took the towel and wiped off my face.