Page 61 of The Best Kind of Forever
Cadieux’s next punch barely grazes me, and I take advantage of his inexperience to whale on him some more, giving him a gnarly shiner. Our teammates finally spring to action and pull us apart.
Embers of rage sweep through me, hot enough to burn through skin and muscle. My chest is rising and falling with each hurried breath.
Out of my peripheral, I see Aeris standing up with her hand over her mouth. The full-blown inferno that was rampaging through me has now descended to a warm buzz, and it’s given me a split second to fully process what I’ve just done. Shit.
Everyone’s looking at me liked I’ve just committed a murder in broad daylight.
“Riverside Reapers, number eighteen, five minutes for fighting.”
I take out my mouthguard so I can yell at the ref. “This is fucking stupid!” I shout, hostility drenching my voice.
Bristol brushes past me. “Shake it off, man.”
The next thing I know, I’m getting up close and personal with the penalty box. I should’ve just bodychecked Cadieux. I didn’t need to ensure a full-out brawl. And now my team might suffer because of my careless mistake.
What’s Aeris going to think? Yeah, she knows I have a bit of a temper, but she’s never seen it in person. And that was probably one of the worst fights I’ve gotten into since I’ve entered the NHL.
One of the opposing players navigates past Fulton and scores a goal, leaving us a point behind with less than ten minutes left in the game. My fists curl in the safety of my gloves, and a curse shoots out of me. I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon, an emotion overload threatening to trample me. The five minutes go by exceedingly fast—thank God—and Bristol scores a goal as soon as I’m let back onto the ice.
It’s 3-4. We’re down to a minute. A tie isn’t great, but I’ll take it over losing.
I’m on the offense’s heels when the puck is intercepted by Casen, and I race down the length of the rink alongside him. The breath in the stadium is bated, the cold air misting around my face. I don’t know where Aeris is, but I can feel her eyes on me like a set of high beams. My heart rate rockets. Just one more goal. Everyone’s watching. Everyone’s counting on me.
Casen passes the puck to me, and I only have the distance for a single swoop to get it in the goal. There are about three players on my tail. Thirty seconds left on the clock. The second that beauty is in my eyeline, I keep it in front of me, skating backwards to dodge a lunge from one of the defensemen. I send the puck in at an angle, watching as it flies toward the corner of the net.
But before it can make it in, the goalie’s stick comes up and blocks my shot. The buzzer sounds the end of the game. The stands rattle with boos and angry insults alike, nearly taking out my eardrums. My teammates don’t crowd around me. Everything stills.
We just lost.
* * *
When I finally exit thestadium, the cold cement underneath my well-worn shoes is doing little to extirpate the heat looping through my body. Petrichor perfumes the atmosphere as a duvet of darkness swaddles me. The night sky is gray and sunless, laden with thick storm clouds that blot out the moon and stars. It’s going to rain soon, and I don’t want to wait around for my clothes to get drenched.
We lost, and it was all my fault. I let Cadieux get in my head. I let the game get personal, and that’s the first thing you learn in hockey—to separate your personal life from your life on the ice.
But I couldn’t let him get away with all that shit he was saying about Aeris.
The tinny sound of my phone grabs my attention, and Coach’s name sprawls across my screen. I pick up without preparing myself for the verbal beatdown I’m about to receive, but when I place the phone to my ear, there’s no anger threaded in his tone.
“I’m disappointed in you, son,” he says, and his words stab the space between my shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry, Coa—”
“I couldn’t find you after the game, so I’m telling you this over the phone,” he prefaces, sighing. “Your major misconduct has resulted in a five-game suspension and a fine of twenty thousand dollars.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
Anger pours into my veins like molten lava. “Coach, are you serious? I didn’t even hit him that hard!”
“I’m sorry, Hayes. But this is the consequence you have to face for being so reckless out there tonight.”
“Please. There has to be something I can do. I need hockey. I need it to distract myself. I can’t just sit and watch my team go on without me.”
Coach’s prior softness has evaporated. “Might I suggest working on yourself before you pull the rest of the team down with you,” he snaps crossly, and then his end of the line cuts out.
FUCK!
I’m so screwed. I don’t care about the money, okay? It’s the suspension that’s going to ruin me. I’ve gotten minor misconducts in the past, but never anything major. I need to cool off before I do something I can’t come back from.
