Page 29 of Chasing The Goal
Connor tossed a water bottle at me, smirking. “You skating like that again next week? Or was this game just a fluke?”
I caught it, popped the cap, and took a swig. “Keep chirping and I’ll remind Coach who’s gunning for the captain’s ‘C’.”
Logan passed by shirtless, hair dripping from his shower, and barked a laugh. “Connor’s had that ‘C’ so long it’s basically tattooed on his soul.”
Connor gave me a smug look. “You’re welcome for the shutout.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, slinging my duffel over my shoulder, “you really scared the Cats with all those line changes.”
He flipped me off, but there was warmth behind it. The kind of brotherhood that came from blood, bruises, and frozen mornings at practice.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” I called, heading toward the exit. I was always the first one to leave the locker room, I hated waiting around, it was a get in and get out type of business.
I was about to head through the exit doors when a sudden movement snagged my attention, running across the open foyer. Mallory.
She was rushing from the family waiting area, a hand clamped over her mouth, her steps uneven. Panic flared in my chest.
“Mal!” I called out, voice sharper than I meant.
She didn’t stop. A few people turned their heads to see what the commotion was about.
She burst into the women’s restroom, and I didn’t hesitate. I was moving before I even had time to second guess what the hell I was doing.
Inside, the sharp scent of bleach hit me as the sound of retching filled the space. It was violent, guttural. I hated it for her.
“Hey,” I said gently, not wanting to scare her. “It’s me. Jaymie.”
There was no response, just another wave of nausea and retching, echoing off the tile.
I crouched down and peered under the stall. “I’m coming in, okay?”
She didn’t say no.
Inside, Mallory was curled on her knees, one hand bracing against the stall wall, the other gripping the porcelain edge like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks in damp waves. Her body shook.
I didn’t think. I knelt beside her and swept her hair back, holding it in one hand, the other rubbing her back slowly, carefully.
“It’s okay,” I murmured. “Just breathe through it, Mal. I got you.”
She gagged again, her body convulsing. I held on, stayed close, my palm moving in steady circles over her spine.Fighting the urge to gag myself, that was the last thing either of us needed.
Minutes passed before the vomiting stopped. Mallory slumped against the wall, breathing hard. Her skin looked gray under the harsh lights. I didn’t say anything—just reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the bottle of water I’d tucked away post-game.
“Here,” I said, unscrewing the cap and holding it out. “Rinse. Sip.”
She took it with shaking fingers, managed a few mouthfuls.
“Thanks,” she whispered, voice hoarse.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
She leaned her head back, pressing her eyes shut. “No idea. I was waiting near the family room, and then it just hit me.”
“You eat anything weird?”
“Not really. Maybe just... dehydration. Or adrenaline. It’s been a day.”
I nodded, not pressing. She’d tell me more if she wanted to.
