Page 58 of What Are The Odds?
Long after he was gone, I didn’t move. Part of me wanted to fess up to Grace, to explain the bet was made before I got to know her. I hated the secret. But I also hated the thought of her hating me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. She still hadn’t text me back. I’d sent her a message last night to check she’d got home safely. Apparently she’d been too preoccupied with Ryker to respond. Thank fuck we had a game in a few hours. I needed to take my anger out on something. I set off towards the bus.
“And in last place we have our captain,” came Ryan’s voice as I rounded the corner.
He had his phone fixated on me.
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
“A call time versus the time players actually show,” he said. “Hate to break it to you, Cap, but you’re late. For the record, please confirm the time so the followers can–”
“Levi.”
Grace jogged down the steps of the Athlete’s Centre. She was dressed in her swimming tracksuit, complete with wet hair and socks and slides. As she got closer, she slowed, as though she didn’t know how to greet me. I knew how I wanted to, but I was also conscious Ryan had his camera fixated on me. I settled with a hug, crushing her to my chest.
“Hey, Hughesy,” Ryan said. “Have you got the time there?”
“Um.”
Frowning, she checked her phone. Apparently it still worked.
“10.36.”
So I was late. The call time was 10.30. Ryan cheered triumphantly. With his video concluded, he headed to the bus. The team was lining up to get their seats. I didn’t have to rush. Will and I always sat together.
"Did you get my message last night?” I asked Grace.
Smooth Holloway.
“Yeah.” She yawned. “Sorry, I, um, fell asleep and then slept through my alarm this morning.”
“Ava didn’t wake you up?”
“No. Her and Stella didn’t come back to the dorm last night.”
The fact she had the dorm to herself didn’t make me feel better. I was starting to worry Ryker and Grace’s night hadn’t ended when he dropped her home. He was tired. So was she. She’d slept through her alarm. That wasn’t like her. Both nights Grace had stayed with me, she’d woken stupidly early.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “I wanted to wish you luck.”
I ruffled her hair, acting like some pathetic big brother. “Thanks, Hughesy.”
“Holloway,” Coach shouted from the bus. “Care to join us anytime soon?”
Grace chuckled. “I better let you go. Good luck.”
She headed towards the parking lot, which was a relief given Richardson was in the Athlete’s Centre. Had they crossed paths just now? Made plans for later?
“Holloway,” Coach yelled.
I jumped. I’d have to worry about Grace later. I had a game to win.
*
A bad pass had resulted in a turnover. With three on one skating towards Washington College’s goal, Washington was basically guaranteed to score. And they did. Ryan immediately hung his head, skating away from their celebration. That goal wasn’t on him or our goalie. They hadn’t stood a chance. With seven minutes left of the first period, I hopped back onto the ice for another shift. The faceoff didn’t go our way. I skated backwards as the play headed back into our defensive zone. After a few passes, they took a shot. It deflected off my stick. Tripp and their right wing skated for it. They got stuck in the corner for a heated puck battle. Washington slashed Tripp’s hand, but it didn’t get picked up. Of course it fucking hadn’t. It was one of those nights. The puck came loose and Morrison picked it up, firing it towards our offensive zone. The blades of Will’s skates met the ice as he jumped the boards and skated to the puck. I raced after him. He thought he had time, but one of Washington’s defencemen had caught up. As Will crouched down to move the puck, Washington slammed him into the boards. Even from this distance I saw the sickening way Will’s shoulder hit the boards. He slumped to the ground and didn’t get up, which was worrying. Will was tough and willing to skate off most injuries. Play came to a halt. The Washington player circled back, checking on Will. Even he knew it didn’t look good. Tripp grabbed the back of the Washington player’s jersey and dragged him away from Will. Before it could escalate, I skated over and put myself between them. If Washington had drawn a penalty, there was no point Tripp earning a call for roughing or worse. As Will got back to his feet, he cradled his shoulder. It did not look good. While he skated off the ice, the referees reviewed the play outside their crease. I skated to the bench, accepting the bottle of water being held out to me. When the crowd collectively gasped, I looked up at the screen. They were replaying the hit. They played it at full pace, before changing up the angle and replaying it slower and slower. It sucked to admit, but it was a clean hit. Just unlucky shoulder placement on Will’s side. We might get lucky and the call would go against Washington, but I wasn’t banking on it. The referees returned the headsets and tablets before skating back to the centre of the ice. I met them there, as did Washington’s captain and the player who’d hit Will. As I’d expected, it wasn’t a penalty. It sucked for two reasons. We could really use the upper hand for a beat, and I also knew what would happen next. I got into the position for the faceoff, the guy responsible for Will’s hit opposite me. When the puck dropped, I got to it first. But it didn’t matter. The Washington player looked past me, at Tripp who had dropped his stick, helmet and gloves. The Washington player followed suit. Then it was on. After a brief scuffle, one where Tripp came out on top, he was ejected. No surprise there. Tripp smugly skated off the ice, not an ounce of regret. He was a good teammate. There was no way he was letting that hit go unchecked. But that didn’t change the fact we’d just lost two of our best players and were down two-one with zero momentum. The first period ended without another score. In the second Washington scored another two, giving them a four-one lead. Early in the third we nabbed another, making the scoreboard seem somewhat redeemable. But a last-minute goal they landed in our empty net sealed our fate. Five-two. Not what I’d hoped for. When we finally ambled into the locker room, I was fucking spent. I had no words of encouragement. And neither did Coach. I fell onto the bench, stretching out my legs that were already achy. Will was beside me, icing his shoulder. Thankfully it hadn’t dislocated. But it did lock sore as fuck.
“So many bullshit calls,” Ryan grumbled, peeling off his jumper.
Maybe. Maybe not. It never felt like the referees were on your side after a loss like that. But they weren’t to blame for the result. We’d played like trash. Training was going to be brutal this week.
“That hit on Will was reckless.”
