Page 64 of Game Changer
* * *
Scott woke up alone on Sunday.
He’d been waking up alone pretty much his entire life (roommates aside), so it shouldn’t have felt as jarring as it did.
He went to the kitchen to make coffee, then turned on the television to watch SportsCenter. They were showing highlights of the game last night, and there were a lot of them. The anchors were commending the outstanding performance by the entire Admirals team, especially given the circumstances.
It had been a hell of a game. Scott was extremely proud of his team, coming together for a massive win over Montreal.
The news on the television turned to the Zullo incident. There was footage of him leaving the police station, stony-faced and not speaking to the reporters.
For some reason it wasn’t as satisfying as Scott had imagined it would be. Zullo was an asshole, no question, but it still made his stomach twist to see a teammate hit rock bottom like this. He sincerely hoped that Zullo would use the league’s rehab program and get his career back on track.
But he didn’t have time to think about Frank Zullo right now. Zullo was a grown man, and he had made his own bed. Scott had a game to get ready for.
* * *
Kip didn’t spend nearly enough time with his dad. They lived in the same house, sure, but they never did stuff together anymore. Kip left for work most mornings before his parents were awake, and he tended to go to bed early. The dumb smoothie job really took a lot out of him.
Kip watched his dad as he cheered on his beloved Scouts. They were both drinking beer and eating Nathan’s crinkle-cut fries from the concession stand. It was a good afternoon.
Scott had come through with the tickets. His dad had been thrilled that morning when Kip had suggested they go to the game. Kip had lied about where the tickets had come from, saying he’d bought them cheap off a friend who couldn’t go. He wasn’t sure if Dad believed him, but if he didn’t, he wasn’t saying anything about it.
The crowd was loud. They roared for every hit, every shot, and every save. It was getting late in the season, and these games mattered.
By the third period it was 3–2 for the Admirals, and Scott had scored one of the goals. The building was tense as the game entered the final minutes. With just under six minutes left on the clock, the Admirals got a penalty. They would be shorthanded for two minutes.
Kip leaned forward and chewed on his thumb. “You got this, Scott,” he said under his breath.
The Scouts weren’t going down without a fight. They kept the action in the Admirals’ zone and gave the goalie, Bennett, a workout. After one save, Scott shot the puck at the blue line to clear it out of their zone, but one of the Scouts defensemen caught it on his stick before it could cross the blue line. He fired it at the Admirals’ net, and Kip could see what was going to happen before it happened.
“No, Scott. Fuck. Don’t!”
As the puck rocketed toward the net, Kip could only watch, horrified, as Scott threw his body in front of it. He dove through the air and caught the puck somewhere in his midsection, where his padding was light.
He went down hard.
Chapter Twelve
“That shot must have been a hundred miles an hour!” Kip’s father said.
“Fuck, Scott, come on. Get up.”
Scott lay crumpled on the ice in the fetal position, one leg slowly moving in and out. Kip felt sick. He wanted to run down and jump over the glass.
“Did it get him in the face?” someone behind him asked loudly.
No...Kip mouthed.
“Nah. Maybe the ribs,” someone else said.
God.
Scott rolled, and Kip could see his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open and gasping.
“He can’t breathe!” Kip said to no one and anyone. “He can’t breathe! He needs...”
Scott put a gloved hand down on the ice, bracing himself before he slowly pushed himself up to his knees. He was wincing, with his eyes squeezed shut, but he seemed to be breathing. He wrapped an arm around himself, holding his side. One of his teammates hooked their arm under his and helped him up. Another picked up his stick for him.
