Lila loops her arm through mine then. “Jack wasn’t too much of a dummy today, was he?”

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “I can handle him.”

“He means well, but…”

“He’s a bit of a menace.”

“Yeah,” Lila laughs. “That. You learn to love it.”

“I’ll let you know when that happens,” I say dryly.

She laughs harder, nudging me in the ribs. “Chinese or pizza?”

“Whatever’s closest,” I tell her, stomach rumbling.

She grins. “That’s my kind of woman.”

You know, to be the sister of such a popular player and the daughter of a legend, I sure don’t know shit about hockey.

I watch Lila as she rises to her feet for the fourth time this period, shouting something about goaltender interference. Her face is turning slightly red, and I feel out of place just sitting here beside her, barely knowing what’s going on.

She slumps back down in her seat with a huff, muttering, “Where the hell are your eyes, Ref!”

“Bad call?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s been the whole game.”

“I guess one of these days I’m going to have to actually sit here and let you explain the rules to me,” I laugh, my eyes following the Druids players as they move across the ice. I can spot Ian as he glides to the center of the rink, Jack close behind him.

“You’ll get it eventually,” she chuckles. “Basically, that player over there touched the goalie when he wasn’t supposed to. That’s why he didn’t block the goal. No one but the goalie is supposed to be in the crease.”

“The crease?”

She points to the shaded area in front of the goal. “There.”

“Ah,” I say. “Okay.”

“You hate this, don’t you?” she asks with a teasing grin.

I make a noncommittal gesture. “I don’t hate it.”

She eyes me with one brow arched.

“I’m just not much of a sports girl,” I say with another laugh.

“Blasphemy,” she tuts.

“Tell me what’s happening now,” I say.

“See Sanchez?” She points to one of the players. “He’s got the puck. He’s trying to get it into the other team’s goal.”

“Well, I knew that much.”

“They’re forcing him into the corner,” she narrates. “Now they’re battling.”

I watch as Sanchez maneuvers his stick to try to win back the puck that the other team’s player is attempting to swipe away from him.

“Now Jack is coming up, he’s going to try to snag it,” Lila tells me.

I can’t help but let my gaze wander to him then—barely making out the shaggy ends of his hair that peek out of the edge of his helmet. Even from here I can see the look of fierce determination on his face. He looks so serious, so much more than he usually is.

As I watch, one of the opposing players swings around toward him, and Lila stands again, starting to yell, and all of a sudden that same player slams into Jack, pushing him into the boards roughly. Lila is shouting even louder as another player crashes into them, forming a full-on pileup as the corner of the rink becomes crowded with a mass of bodies.

“Penalty,” Lila yells. “Penalty!”

She’s still standing when the players start to move away from the corner, and it’s only when they’ve skated away that it becomes clear that Jack is down, lying on his side as a flurry of activity ensues. I notice Ian skating over and kneeling next to him, the ref not far behind as Ian checks him over.

“What’s happened?” I ask. “Is he okay?”

Lila doesn’t answer, watching on with a concerned expression as she starts to move past me into the aisle to get closer to the edge of the rink. I follow her without thinking—but there are people already helping Jack from the ground, even though it’s clear he isn’t okay. There’s a grimace of pain in his features, and Ian is helping support his weight by letting him brace himself against Ian’s shoulder.

Jack is cradling his arm—the one he broke not so long ago—holding it closer to his chest as he and Ian maneuver off the ice. The ref has already called a time-out, and fans all around us are standing now, everyone watching to see if Jack is okay.

Lila takes off toward the Druids’ bench where Jack and Ian have just exited. I push my way through the crowd to follow, both of Lila and I reaching them in time to hear the grunts of Jack’s pain and Ian’s soothing voice.

“You’re okay, bud,” Ian is saying. “You’ll be okay.”

“It fucking hurts,” Jack groans, his voice taking on a panicked edge. “Is it broken again? It can’t be broken again. I can’t fucking miss out again.”

“We’re gonna get you to the hospital, Jack,” Ian tells him. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Ian spots Lila and me then, waving us over.

“He landed on his bad arm,” Ian tells Lila. “They’re gonna take him to the hospital to get an X-ray. Can you ride with him?”

“Obviously,” Lila says breathlessly.

Ian nods. “I can meet you there.”

“No,” Jack says. “Finish the game. They need you.”

“I’m not letting you—”

“Finish the fucking game,” Jack says again. “You can come by after.”

Ian hesitates for a moment, looking torn until he notices the determined expression on Jack’s face. He nods once, frowning. “Okay. I’ll meet you right after.” He looks to Lila. “Can you text me what they say?”

“I will,” she promises.

She seems to remember me then, turning to look at me pleadingly.

“Can you drive my car to the hospital? I’m going to ride in the ambulance with Jack.”

“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She gives me a grateful look, squeezing my arm once and dropping her car keys in my hand before turning back to her brother, where security is taking over for Ian, helping Jack through the crowd that is still standing and has just begun to cheer for him.

He raises his uninjured arm, giving them a tight smile, but there’s something in his eyes that is so unlike him it actually stops me in my tracks.

Because Jack looks afraid.

He looks very afraid.

Illustration by Jessica Patrick

Lana Ferguson is a USA Today bestselling author and sex-positive nerd whose works never shy from spice or sass. A faded Fabio cover found its way into her hands at fifteen, and she’s never been the same since. When she isn’t writing, you can find her randomly singing show tunes, arguing over which Batman is superior, and subjecting her friends to the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings. Lana lives mostly in her own head but can sometimes be found chasing her corgi through the coppice of the great American outdoors.

Visit Lana Ferguson Online

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