Page 42 of Icebreaker

I did my best to block out the chatter and concentrate on hockey, but escaping was impossible. In the locker room, my teammates had started to ask questions about me again. They gathered in small groups, their voices low.

"Did you see what they're saying about Axel now?" I heard one of them ask. One player hunched over his phone and then showed an article to another. Their brows knitted as they read, presumably about me.

"It's everywhere." Sergei joined in. "Did I tell you guys, or did I tell you guys?"

"They're tearing him apart. This article says he plays games off the ice just like he plays them on," said the player with the phone in his hand.

The little snippets of conversation hit me hard. I pretended to lace up my skates, but every world weighed heavily.

Rick tried to decrease the tension. "Come on, guys, you know how the bloggers are. They'd sell their grandma for a scoop. Axel's our man, and he's done a solid job. Let's give him our support."

"Yeah, solid until he cracks," groaned Sergei. "We don't need his drama. Not now."

I felt a flush of either anger or sadness rise up the back of my neck. The room's walls seemed to inch closer, leaving me with less space to maneuver.

Just then, Coach burst into the room. "Enough!" he growled, silencing the whispered conversations. "You're all teammates, brothers on the ice. Don't turn on your own based on idle gossip and trash talk—Axel's one of us. If you've got concerns, change your focus and show me your best game. Then, you can start to talk about reality, not muckraking fantasies.

He looked around the room. The intensity of his words hung in the air, mixing with the lingering smells of sweat and steely skates.

Slowly, my teammates began to move again. They pulled on their jerseys and laced up their skates. Familiar, chaotic sounds took over. I caught Rick's eye. He nodded at me, a silent pledge of support.

We had yet to solve everything, but Coach gave me another chance to prove myself with my game. I had a fighting chance to push back the cold wave of doubt.

As we filed out toward the ice, the sound of our skates clicking on the concrete was like the cadence of a battle drum. It was time for me to prove myself all over again out on the rink amid the roar of the fans.

Despite trying to buckle down and send all the outside thoughts packing, I faltered. The chaos in my mind dulled my usually sharp defensive instincts.

A shot ricocheted off our goalie's pads at a critical moment, and the puck spun toward me. It was a routine clear, something I'd done countless times. But, as the puck approached, I met it awkwardly with my stick, misjudging the angle.

Instead of sending it out to the safety of the boards, I tapped it right back into the path of the other team's charging forward. The crowd gasped. With a quick flick of his wrist, he snapped the puck into the net and tied the game.

My heart sank. I looked over at the bench. Coach's frustrated stare was enough. He didn't need to say anything. The referee blew his whistle to signal a timeout.

"Axel, over here. Now," Coach barked.

I skated over to him, and my chest clenched, making it hard to breathe. My body broke out into a cold sweat.

"What was that?" Coach demanded. "That wasn't the play I know you can make. We didn't need that kind of mistake right now."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was cottony dry. "I know, Coach. I…I screwed up. I'm sorry."

He sighed, reached up, and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Look, I know a lot is happening with you right now, but you have to keep your head in the game when you're out on the ice. You're a crucial part of the team. I don't know how many goals you've saved, but they've kept us in many games. Stay sharp. Stay focused."

I nodded, his words sinking in. "I understand. It won't happen again."

Coach Fraser placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Shake this off. I know you can. Get back out there and help us win this game. Can you do that?"

"Yes," I assured him, sounding at least twice as confident as I felt.

We managed to eke out a victory, but it was a bittersweet one for me. We didn't win because of my solid play. We won despite my weakness.

I was drifting again, and Quinn, in tune with my mood, tried to get me to open up. He caught up to me in the parking lot after the game.

He'd heard some of the chatter in the locker room. It would be impossible to avoid that, but he didn't know that I spotted Dante in the stands. I looked at him and saw worry in his blue eyes. "Yes, talk to me," he pleaded. "Something's come back again. Let me in so I can help."

With my mouth open, ready to unpack the baggage of seeing Dante again, I stopped. Instead, I pushed Quinn away. "I can handle it. Give me a few more days."

The look of hurt in his eyes caused guilt to gnaw at my gut, but I couldn't bring myself to put him in the media's firing line. I was too proud and stubborn. I'd handled everything life threw at me to try and keep me down, even the death of my mother when I was a child.

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