Page 167 of Stick It
Iscoff, eyes fixed on the boards.
“But Dylan earned it,” he goes on, unaware of how much those words curdle my insides. “She outworked you, outplayed you. You know that. And deep down, I think you know she deserved it.”
Like fuck she did, but I can’t tell Coach that. He’s as blinded by her as everyone else is.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t see how much it’s eating at you,” he continues. “Hell, I’d be worried if itwasn’tbothering you. But the way you’re handling it?” He shakes his head. “You’re proving exactly why Dylan is the better player.”
My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. Thank fuck hockey players don’t worry too much about losing their teeth cause I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack one.
“You want a shot at that first line?” he asks, piquing my interest for the first time. “Start acting like someone whowantsit. Like someone who’s still a part of this team. Take all that animosity you’re feeling and channel it into something productive.”
Channel it? Sure. But getting my spot back is just the beginning.
Dylan has stoleneverythingfrom me.
My spot. My best friend. My fuckingroom.
My respect.
No one on this team looks at me the same now.
If she’d never come to BSU, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be angry all the goddamn time. Wouldn’t feel like I’m drowning in silence, clawing to get back everything she stole.
Something twists inside me. Tight and dark.
This is her fault.
All of it.
And I’m done with the warnings. This time, I’m going to make certain she doesn’t get back up.
50
ETHAN
The third periodis almost over, and the tension is brutal. We’re down one goal, and I can feel the weight of it in my chest like a puck caught under my ribs. The Eastwick Knights are playing dirty—as always. They don’t give a damn about finesse. Just brute strength and whatever they can get away with when the refs aren’t looking.
I clock Dylan weaving up the ice, slicing through defenders like she was born for this. She’s fast, humble, light on her skates, and for a second—just one—I think she’s got an opening. I think maybe, maybe she can tie the game.
It plays out in slow motion. One minute, she’s lining up for the shot on a goal, and the next, a defenseman barrels toward her. He’s not going for the puck. He’s going forher.
“Dylan—”
I don’t even hear the rest of what I scream. My blades dig into the ice as I pivot hard, but I’m too far away. He slams into her full force, shoulder to midsection, and she goes airborne before crashing down.
I don’t know if I imagine the noise or actually hear it overthe crowd and blood rushing in my ears, but the sound of her hitting the ice—fuck, I’ll never forget it.
It’s the worst moment of my life, followed immediately by the next…when she doesn’t get up. Doesn’t move.
Panic floods me. The whistle shrieks. Coach is yelling from the bench, but it’s all white noise as I drop my stick and skate harder, faster than I ever have before.
“Dylan?” I drop to my knees beside her, yanking my gloves off. My hands tremble as I reach them out. “Dylan, talk to me.”
She’s curled onto her side, arms wrapped around her ribs. Despite the layers of protection she’s wearing, I’ve never seen her look so small. So fragile. Is this how Finn felt that night he found her beaten up outside the arena?
Her eyes are scrunched tight, but they flutter open when I touch her shoulder, slicing right through me as our gazes connect, and I glimpse the extent of pain she’s in. “I’m here.” My voice is hoarse, raw, but I’ll do anything to ease the pain she’s in. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Menace.” Jax sounds just as broken as I am, and Finn skates over a second later, falling to his knees beside me. “Shit, Dyl. Where does it hurt?”
