He grins then before looking out at the ice. When I think I’ve almost caught my breath, Coach calls their line, and Jace jumps over the boards, getting set up for the puck as Baylor skates to the far right, waiting for the defense to come up. When they go into the zone, the one player who was calling Baylor names is on her like white on rice. He throws his stick in her back, but she must not be bothered because she is basically taunting him with the puck. But then he gets a piece of the puck, sending it up to a forward. They split our defense, and when the puck goes to the back of the net, I slam my fist against the board.

Fucking shit.

“What the hell, Moore! Trying to get fancy and look what happens. Get your head out of your ass and shoot to win, not to impress! McMinn, what the hell? You’re playing too deep,” Coach starts, and then he is just screaming at them as I shake my head.

“Well, someone isn’t getting laid,” Markus whispers to me, and I scoff.

“Or that play was shit?” I suggest, and he nods.

“Or both,” Jace adds in, and we all nod as the puck drops.

My teammates shoot a few times, getting some really great looks, but nothing goes in. When Coach calls our line, we all hit the ice, taking the places of our teammates, but unlike them, we’re gonna score. I feel it in my bones. Taking the puck from Kuntz, I skate behind the goal as everyone lines up, ready to go. When Baylor cuts left past Jace, I send it up to her and she spins around the player who doesn’t like her—well, one of many—before sending it to Jace, who drops it to Markus, and he shoots quickly. The goalie blocks it with his right leg pad, giving up one hell of a rebound, but when Baylor goes for it, I see that the one guy is coming straight for her and he means to take her out. I can see it in his eyes.

Before I can even move, to try to do who knows what, Jace cuts in front of him and the guy sends Jace through the air before he comes down hard on the ice. When he cries out, my chest feels like it’s caving in and I’m frozen in place. Holding onto his shoulder, he tries to get up but then withers to the ground again. He stands though as I reach him, his arm hanging loosely from his body, and I know it’s not good.

“What hurts?” I pant, trying to figure out what to do.

“My shoulder,” he cringes as a medic reaches him. “Fuck, Jay, it’s bad.”

He then looks over at me, his eyes full of tears, and we both know the truth.

His chances for the draft, at least for this year, are more than likely done for.

When Jace and Jayden come home later that night from the hospital, everyone is waiting up for him to find out what happened. His arm is in a sling, and he looks drugged up as he slowly enters the house. Everyone has said he’s out, but I believe he’s okay. He has to be okay. I can’t have that on me, because if he’s out, it’s my fault. The guy was going for me, and Jace, he got in the way. I know it’s his choice, and he did what he thought was best, but if he’s out, then that’s it. He won’t go into the draft, and I will forever blame myself.

“Verdict, Sinclair,” Markus calls out as he comes into the kitchen, leaning his hip to the counter.

Shrugging his one shoulder, he cringes before saying, “Broken clavicle, out for three to six months.”

My heart just sinks as everyone goes to shake his good hand and wish him well. I stay back though, against the counter as I watch, trying to figure out what I’m going to say. Is sorry even enough? He hasn’t looked at me, and I know that has to mean he is mad at me. He looks downright pathetic, his poor eyes red and his body visibly in pain. I feel horrible and I, no shit, want to trade places with him. It isn’t fair.

When the kitchen starts to clear out, Jayden comes over to me and taps my hip. “Hey, you got my phone?”

I nod, swallowing past my sobs as I reach in my back pocket to pull out his phone and keys that I had grabbed for him since he had gone with his mom and Jace midgame.

“Thanks,” he says, taking them from me. “We won?”

“Yeah,” I answer, blinking back my tears.

“Hey,” he says then steps in front of me. “You okay?”

No. Not even a little bit. Not only do I have this on me, but my dad reamed me, saying that I am distracted, that I don’t have my mind in the right place and I won’t make the draft with my game play. Mr. Fisher is coming to our next game, and if I don’t have my shit together by then, no telling what is going to happen. My interviews have gone well, they have, and some of them I felt really good about, but everyone is hesitant. I can see it on their faces.

No one wants to take a chance on the girl.

Ugh, my fucking lady parts. While I do not want a dick, I wish people would stop worrying about what is between my legs and on my chest and focus on how I fucking rock on the ice. That I can shoot harder than most boys. That I’m quicker, smarter, and that I am better. I know it, my dad does, and even my teammates know it, but still scouts and owners are nervous. It’s so frustrating, but I can’t worry about all that right now. Not with the bomb Jace just dropped on us.

“Just upset,” I say, my throat thick with emotion. “It’s my fault.”

Looking at me, puzzled, he asks, “Say what?”

“It’s all my fault,” I say, and then the tears start to roll down my face.

“Whoa, what the fuck is wrong with you? I’m the one hurt here,” Jace hollers at me, coming over and hip checking Jayden out of the way. “Why you making her cry?”

Shaking my head, I watch as most of the guys all step up, ready to murder someone, and then I’m just sobbing. They all mean so much to me, minus a few, and to know they have my back is just overwhelming. I never had this before. Never, and I really don’t know how to handle the way it makes me feel. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around Jace’s waist and I cry into his good shoulder as he pats my back.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jace. Why did you do it? I could have taken the hit!” I say into his chest. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have taunted him the way I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agrees, pushing me back so he can look at me. “But I did it because you are my friend, my teammate, and I will protect you. If his hit did this to me, imagine what it would have done to you?”

“I would have taken it though. Now you’re out,” I sob, choking on my words, and he shakes his head.