Page 67 of If You Love Me

The team files out of the locker room. “We’ve got this. Don’t worry,” Roman murmurs as he passes.

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the game or us.

“What was that about?” Coach Thomas asks as we follow them out of the locker room.

“Just the line change.” My voice comes out more confident than I am.

Thomas’s lips thin. “Shouldn’t he be talking to his coach about that instead of you?”

“We’re all on the same team here,” I remind him.

He grunts but doesn’t respond otherwise.

I join Vander Zee behind the bench and Boxer and Thomas head up to the box to sit with Fielding and their families. I spot Richards and his boys up there, too, which happens often. I refocus on the ice and keep a close eye on Grace and Madden during the warm-up. This needs to work. I’m putting myself on the line here.

The game gets off to a rough start, with New York scoring a goal in the first three minutes of play, courtesy of Bowman. Grace rotates off the ice, his jaw set, lips in a line. New York came prepared. “He’s got new moves,” Grace grumbles as he takes a seat on the bench.

“He does,” I agree. “Watch for those changes. We’ll find the pattern.”

Madden evens the score halfway through the first period. Roman is doing his best, but Bowman is skating circles around everyone, including his former teammate. I’d be more impressed if it wasn’t my team he was shredding.

Grace rotates back in, and his frustration mounts with every shot on the Terror’s net. So does Madden’s. I am already rethinking strategy for the second period.

Madden chases the puck down as New York heads for Toronto’s net. Before Grace can intervene, Madden slams into Bowman. He ends up against the boards, and players converge on them as they fight for possession of the puck. Grace is in there, trying to regain control, but it’s almost impossible to see what’s going on from where we’re positioned, with sticks and arms and legs flying and flailing. Then three players go down, including Grace and Madden.

The refs jump in and clear the pileup, but the crowd is in a frenzy, especially with Madden and Grace shouting at each other while Madden struggles to his feet. He grips the boards, favoring his right leg.

“Fuck no,” Vander Zee mutters.

I can see Thomas and Richards shaking their heads while Boxer runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. This is the last thing I want. Regardless of data, this makes my call a bad one.

Madden makes it to the bench, shrugging off help from Palaniappa. Vander Zee calls in the team doctor.

“I’m fine.” Madden winces as the doc palpates his ankle, then he shoots a glare at Grace. “This is your fucking fault.”

“When isn’t it?” Grace grouses.

“Enough,” Vander Zee snaps. “Madden, you need to be looked at.”

“This is bullshit.” Madden is forced to accept Doc’s help as he guides him to the locker room.

It’s a blow we don’t need. We’re tied and our star center is out with an injury.

Bowman scores another goal in the second period, and with Madden off the ice, we can’t recover the lead. We lose the game 2-1.

“It’s not your fault,” Vander Zee says as we head for the locker room for a post-game discussion. It doesn’t matter that Vander Zee calls the shots, I made the suggestion, so I’ll take the heat for this from the coaching side. Which is frustrating because Thomas isn’t creating solutions, and all these boys have done with Vander Zee is give him lip service.

“You happy now, Grace? I’m off the ice thanks to you!” Madden shouts as we enter.

“You’re the one trying to play defense!” Grace snaps back.

“Enough!” Roman roars. “The two of you are fucking the season for us. Deal with your shit! I don’t care what the hell happened with your damn sandwich when you were at the Hockey Academy. Get the fuck over it!”

Grace and Madden’s heads whip in Roman’s direction, both wear mortified expressions.

Madden points at Stiles and Bright. “Which one of you said something?”

Bright raises his hand. “But I?—”

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