Brenna

Hunter scores a goal after a beautiful setup from Nick and I. Behind the net, we group together in a series of hugs and pats on the back. The crowd, including Shea, KJ, and Jayden, loosen a loud cheer. Having home ice is always the best. It makes a warm feeling spread through my chest, and I do my best to not search for Shea.

Search? My mind scoffs. You have his seat memorized.

I shake my head, focusing on the game. Shea and I already had a slip-up during hockey. We don't need another one. After yesterday's game, Shea was broody. He said little, but he was antsy and his posture was tense. It took at least twenty minutes to calm him down before he explained why he was in such a mood. One of Penticton's players goaded him and made degrading comments about me. Shea snapped.

And while I appreciate him standing up for me, he's right. It was wrong to let his personal life trickle into the hockey game. Being ejected from the game because of what some jealous asshole said wasn't right.

I keep my gaze locked on the bench ahead of me.

"Atta boy!" Coach shouts from the bench. He's clapping his hands together, and the noise is lost to the crowd. Which is saying a lot because usually it's just parents and siblings that show up to watch. This time around, we've gained momentum. The same is to be said for Shea's game last night, and I can't help but wonder if it's because two women are playing in this league.

My eyes wander around the arena, leaving me feeling a little star-struck.

This game is fire, for sure. My team is hot and ready to kick some ass. Rutland's got talented hockey players, but we're better. Sure, we have our weaknesses, but I know we can win this series. I'm dying to get to the next round and watch Shea's team rip Connor's apart. Playing against their team for gold will be a blast.

The goofy grin on my lips disappears when I hear my name being called.

"Hey, Harrison!"

Before stepping into the bench area, I glance over my shoulder. It's their lead forward, Ian Jensen. A crease of confusion forms between my brows. Ian, despite his talents, has never been much of a talker. He's a humble player with a respectful reputation. Which isn't a shocker—he's Hunter's cousin, after all. Ian's made comments on my playing skills before, and not once have any of them been rude. However, these comments have never been on the ice. On rare occasions, we will see each other at Okanagan-wide parties in the backcountry and sometimes speak to each other.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"That was a wicked pass. As much as I hate to say it, that was a stellar goal. Keep up the good work."

He skates away before I can respond, and I stay standing in the same spot until Hunter gives me a small shove from behind. Ducking my head down, I step into the bench area, smiling. Players like Jensen are my favourite to play against. They're always respectful and they portray the integrity hockey values.

When we're sitting on the bench, Nick nudges me. "What's with the grin?"

Removing a glove, I rest it on my lap and grab my water bottle. I take a quick sip before replying. "Nothing," I shrug. "Just admiring the respectful players."

Nick loosens a low whistle. "Few of them out there."

We share an understanding look. Racial slurs have been directed at Nick before, and most of them have been suspended from this league. It's a great step forward, but people shouldn't be saying them to begin with. Although I'll never know what it's like to have a racial slur thrown at me, I feel sympathetic for Nick. Just like he feels sympathetic to me. We'll never stand in each other's shoes, but the best we can do is try to understand each other.

I knock my shoulder against his. "We've got this, Nicky."

He chuckles, bumping my shoulder back. "I know, Brenny."

I wrinkle my nose.

"Brenny?" Hunter snorts.

Removing his helmet, Nick chuckles and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "Just trying to keep the rhyming going. Now that I've said that, though, I'll never say it again. That was weird. Sorry, Bee."

The three of us exchange one more glance before turning back to the game, chuckling to ourselves.

This is what I love about hockey. The feeling of family. Of belonging. Even if there are hardships we have to face, the game is worth it. So are the relationships that form. 

* * *

The puck drops for the third period. We're up 3-2, and Rutland is pushing harder than ever. You can tell because they're outplaying us. Whenever we try to clear to puck, Rutland keeps it in. My line is struggling, including myself. Every muscle in my leg is screaming for a break. My lungs are straining for the next breath. We're scrambling in every corner, rushing after each crisp pass that is made by Rutland. At this rate, the game will be tied in no time flat.

Sweat drips down my neck as I fight to get to the corner before Jensen. Although he's a good guy, he's not my friend on the ice. He claims the puck before me, and I'm ready to throw a hit his way. However, my exhausted has ramifications. Instead of hitting him, I miss him. While Jensen is skating towards the area behind the net, I'm having a date with the fucking boards.

I collide with them so hard, I fall to my knees.

A curse slips from between my lips, and I bet Connor is laughing in the stands somewhere.

Fuck.

Quick as I can, I climb back to my feet and follow Jensen. He's been my check all night. Despite being tired, he's my responsibility. That's something that Uncle Aiden drilled into me when I first started playing hockey. You're responsible for at least one player on the ice.

Before I reach him, Jensen passes back to one of his defensemen.

Hunter targets the defenseman. They're close to the blue line, and Hunter's back is to our bench. Both players are caught in a duel as they attempt to gain control of the puck. Hunter trying to get it out. The other player trying to keep it in.

Rutland wants to tie the game.

We want to keep our lead.

We have to keep the lead.

Eventually, Hunter gains possession of the puck. However, because of his positioning, he tries to backhand the puck out of our zone. His attempt to clear to puck is weak; I can see the exhaustion in his stance and expression.

What isn't weak is number fifteen, Ethan Black's, hit from behind. Hunter's unable to brace for the impending hit. Because of this, he makes two fatal errors when playing hockey. First, he puts his head down, focusing on the puck as opposed to his surroundings. Second, after his attempt to clear it, he turns around, tries to beeline for our bench.

When Hunter turns, Black labels him. It's an ugly hit. A gasp of horror echoes through the crowd as the sound of Hunter's body hitting the boards, then the ice, reverberates across the arena. Hunter's head snaps back and his face slams hard into the glass, and then he's crumpled in a heap atop the ice.

Unmoving.

My blood turns cold. My stomach drops.

Without thinking, I discard my stick, then my gloves and helmet. As much as I want to kick Black's ass for laying such a dirty hit on Hunter, I'm more concerned about the conditions of my best friend.

I skate over to where Hunter is unconscious.

The only problem is, so does everyone else. Players push and shove. They curse and yell, crowding right next to Hunter. Their skates bump against his body, making him slide slightly to the left.

Panic erupts in my chest.

I push my way through the mess and drop to my knees beside Hunter. His skin is pale and blood is leaking from his nose. There's already severe bruising across the bridge. One of his gloves is off, too, and his wrist is bent in an odd direction. The sight makes my stomach do a funny flip.

Plus, the panic only gets worse. It fills my chest as I try to protect Hunter's unconscious body from the roughhousing players above. Their skates continue to nudge against his legs and bicep, and I use my free arm to smack at them. It's an odd position. I'm leaning over Hunter, using my upper body as a shield while trying to push people away. The muscles in my right arm are already aching from bearing my weight.

"Stop it!" I scream. "You're going to make this worse!"

The pushing and shoving continues. Tears blur my vision. What the fuck is wrong with men? Fights should take place after their player is guaranteed safe and okay. Not when he's unconscious on the ice! Pushing him around could make his potential injuries worse.

Hot tears leak down my cheeks. My heart feels like it will concave.

"HEY!" I hear Nick shout. "GROW THE FUCK UP."

When I glance above, I see him trying to shove people away. However, some players take his actions as offense. Someone clips Nick's jaw, making his head snap back.

Nick rebounds without appearing fazed. He shoves the player back, causing him to lose his stumble.

"STOP!" he bellows.

There's a fraction of the desired effect on the players who are pushing and shoving. But not enough to make them stop.

"Listen to Wright!" Jensen yells. He's got his back to the players, trying to prevent them from hitting Hunter.

Murphy, the player who Nick shoved, comes back at Nick. Nick retaliates before any damage can be done, and the force knocks Murphy back.

Murphy's skate contacts my cheek. When I look down, I see dots of blood against Hunter's pale forehead.

Shocked by the sudden sting of pain, I press my fingers to my cheek. They come back coated in dark blood. It makes my stomach uneasy, but I push that unwanted feeling away. Hunter's more important. My wounds just need some sanitizing and maybe some stitches. The state of Hunter's injuries is unknown, and that makes panic bubble in my chest.

"Medic!" I scream. "We need a medic!"

One day, I'll probably be embarrassed by the state of my voice. It sounds like I'm starring in a horror movie and am just about to be murdered. And I'm sure I look the part, too. Hot tears are staining my cheeks. On one side, they're mixed with blood.

Across from me, Murphy sits up. His brown eyes widen when he sees my face. "Shit."

Before I can say anything, Nick grabs the back of Murphy's jersey and yanks him back. Murphy slides across the ice, stopping just past the blue line. If the situation were different, I'd find that funny.

Jensen kneels beside me while the refs calm the other players down. He tips my chin up, and I stare into his electric blue eye. "You okay, Harrison?"

For a brief second, our gazes stay connected, tears continuing to spill. Then I look at Hunter. "It's just a scratch. Hunter..."

Jensen's arm is suddenly under my shoulders. He hoists me up. "Let's get out of their way. Coach Jameson is on the way. So are the paramedics. We need to give them space."

"Fuck that," I spit, trying to shove Jensen away. "Hunter needs me."

I try to gain freedom from his grip. It's no use. Jensen's not letting go.

"Ian Fucking Jensen," I warn. "Let me go."

One side of his mouths curls upward. "Save that for Shea Fucking Smith."

He's trying to lighten the mood. I understand that. But he's reading the room all wrong. My heart can't handle this. If Hunter can't play hockey... If he doesn't wake up...

I choke on a sob, and Jensen pulls me into a hug. I'm aware he's skating backwards, pulling me away from the disaster, but I'm suddenly too exhausted to do anything.

All I can do is watch over my shoulder as the paramedics move Hunter to a stretcher. He's still unconscious, but at least he's breathing.

Then a lightbulb goes off in my head. Fine. Maybe I can't help Hunter right now, but I can travel with the ambulance and be there when he wakes up.

"Sorry, Jensen," I say, digging my elbow into his ribs. He lets go of me, stumbling backwards, while he tries to catch his breath.

Aware of my bloody cheek and stained jersey, I skate over to Hunter.

At least, I try to.

Uncle Aiden wraps his arms around me, holding me back. "Brenna. I'm not gonna tell you to calm down. I know how close you and Hunter are. At this moment, there's nothing you can do. He's being taken to the hospital. Let's get you in the locker room and cleaned up. Then we'll figure out a plan."

He pauses, and when I look up, I see him glancing over his shoulder. I follow his gaze. The seats where Shea, Jayden, KJ, and the rest of the gang were are now empty.

Uncle Aiden lets me go, giving me a small shove towards our bench. "Come on. You'll have company while our team medic looks over you."

* * *

After getting my cheek looked after, Shea drives everyone to the hospital, Jensen included. It's odd, having him in the vehicle with us, but I respect his support. Although he should still be playing hockey, he embellished my elbow-to-the-ribs, saying it felt very bruised. I'll give the kid props—he's an excellent actor.

The current anxiety radiating from him isn't an act, though. He was almost in tears when he talked to Hunter's parents before we left. The only reason anyone held it together was to comfort Hunter's mom while she bawled. We're meeting them at the hospital, as well as my mom. She'll make sure she's the nurse looking after Hunter, which adds a touch of relief to the panic that won't leave me alone.

Seeing Hunter on the ice...

I dip my head down, trying to gain control of my emotions. But sitting in the back with Jayden and KJ means you can't hide anything. Both of them are too observant.

"Hey," KJ says. He loops an arm around my shoulders before the first tear falls. "Tucker's gonna be okay. He'll want to be there when you annihilate our team. Even if it's from the bench."

"Way to have faith in your team," Shea drawls. We're on Pandosy Street now, and I can see the hospital ahead. Its emergency sign is lit up in red and white, as is the walkway between both buildings. Shea turns on his blinker, turns, and then searches for a parking spot.

His comment makes me laugh a little.

Jayden nudges me with his knee. "Everything's gonna be okay."

He has a point. A positive burst of energy can make you feel ten times better. I'm still worried about Hunter, though.

Parking, paying for parking, and then entering the hospital takes half an hour. Kelowna's short on parking everywhere, so it's no surprise. None of us are happy about walking fifteen minutes down the street, though. Shea suggested he drop us off before finding a parking spot, but we declined. It's not fair to make him walk alone.

When we arrive at the entrance to KGH, my stomach does a funny flip. My cheek throbs, too. I wonder if Mom's aware we're here. She works in Emergency, so I don't doubt she hasn't already heard the news. Maybe Hunter told her. Maybe she's awake.

To my left, I hear Shea mutter something. The other guys nod, heading into the building. Shea pulls me to the side.

He runs his thumb over the clear butterfly bandaid. After our team medic staunched the bleeding, it was determined that stitches weren't needed. Despite the heavy bleeding, the skate's blade didn't cut deep. After a couple of days with the bandage, I should be able to remove it, clean the cut, and then apply a medical ointment.

His brows furrow in concern. "What's bothering you"

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, keeping my gaze away from his. The concerned expression on his face is intense, but his hazel eyes speak volumes. KJ made a joke about Shea almost shitting himself when he saw my bloody face, but something tells me his joke wasn't far off. Shea keeps looking at the bandage.

"My cheek is fine."

He brushes his thumb over it again. His brows are still furrowed. "I should kill that player," he murmurs.

I snort, swatting his hand away. If he doesn't stop touching me, Shea and I won't make it into the hospital. I'll drag him back to the vehicle for all I care. And that doesn't bode well for my integrity or my friendship with Hunter.

Shea grins. "You didn't answer the question."

I sigh. "It was difficult to watch that hit on Hunter."

His lips twist to one side as he glances at the bright, tall building before us. The light reflect in his hazel eyes, making them look almost cosmic. He expels a deep breath. "Watching your teammates get injured is always difficult. They're like family. You want to do whatever you can to protect them. KJ broke his collarbone one year, and standing there watching the paramedics haul him off of the ice was torturous."

I cock an eyebrow. "Shea, the heartless bastard, was worried about his friends?"

He snorts, and that twinkle in his eyes turns from wondrous to mischievous. With a little shove, he says, "Nobody's that heartless, Bren."

Unable to stop myself, I pull Shea into a hug. "I know. Comedy isn't easing the tension as much as I thought it would."

He returns the hug with no hesitation. "Then let's get inside. Maybe the tension'll ease when you hear news about Tucker."

With that, we head inside and join the rest of the gang, including Hunter's parents. His mom stands next to my mom, wringing her hands and talking a million miles a minute. Mom looks very professional in her black scrubs and with her hair tied up, but when she sees me, she breaks the conversation and pushes past Hunter's parents.

Mom pulls me into a hug, bumping Shea out of the way. I hear him chuckle before Mom blabs. "Jesus Christ, Brenna. What happened to your face?"

I hug her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her scrubs. Despite working at the hospital, there's a hint of laundry detergent and the perfume she wears. It's subtle, but it's there. "A skate contacted my face. But I'm okay. No stitches. How's Hunter?"

She steps back and cups my face, inspecting the rest of my body. After nodding in approval, she turns back to Hunter's parents. "As I was saying, Hunter's awake and stable. He has a broken nose and broken wrist, but we're testing for a concussion. There doesn't appear to be any significant damage, as he could remember what happened tonight."

Tension eases throughout the group. We were expecting the worst, like a ruptured spleen or torn ligament. Something. Thank the universe, that's not the case.

"Are we allowed to see him?" Hunter's mom asks.

Mom exchanges a hug with her. "Family is allowed in. But only family."

She directs her tone at me.

My shoulders deflate, and Shea rests his hands on them, giving them a squeeze. "When can we see him?" I ask.

"Tomorrow," Mom replies.

"Mom," I whine.

She ignores me and looks at Shea. "Take her home, okay, Shea? Brenna needs to rest and ice her cheek."

Shea glances between us. He looks uncomfortable, which is probably why he raises his hands and shakes his head. "I'm not responding to that. Choosing sides is detrimental."

A chuckle echoes around the group.

"Honey," Hunter's mom says. She rests her hand on her husband's forearm. "One of us needs to collect his equipment. The coach is still at the arena. If we made it there prior to the last game ending, he can give it to us."

"We can grab his hockey equipment," Shea offers. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Part of me thinks he wants to get the hell out of here, and the blame for that can be allocated to my mom and I. "That way, when I drop Brenna off at her house, it'll be easier to access as opposed to if KJ or I were to take it home. Plus, we have to drop KJ and Jayden off at the arena, anyway."

KJ and Jayden nod in agreement.

Hunter's dad rubs his peppered jaw. "Are you sure?"

I smile softly at Hunter's mom. She's standing there, still trembling despite the good news about Hunter's health. "Of course we'll grab his hockey equipment."

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. "Thank you."

Shea nods. "I'll drive." He glances at Jensen. "Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Jensen waves off Shea's offer. "I'll take the bus back to my place. The next one arrives in ten minutes. One of my teammates already collected my equipment."

"No," Hunter's dad says. He squeezes his nephew's shoulder. "We'll give you a ride home."

His brows furrow. "Are you sure?"

Both parents nod, and then Jensen looks at Shea and I. "Well, I'll keep in contact with you guys?"

"Sure," I nod. A shiver reverberates down my spine. The air conditioning is on, and we must be close to a source. Or my adrenaline is crashing and I'm finally feeling the effects of exhaustion.

Shea tightens his arm around my hip, angling his body to provide comfort and warmth. He nods. "See you around, Ian."

We exchange goodbyes, and then me, Shea, KJ, and Jayden are heading back to the parking lot.

But not until Ian has given Jayden a hug. 

On our way out, I give Jayden a nudge. "What was that about?"

His cheeks turn pink. "Nothing."

"Okay," I murmur, the smile still present on my face. 

* * *

Connor's game is over by the time we arrive at the Capital News Centre.

KJ and Jayden reverted to their vehicles and headed home when we arrived. Can't blame them. Today's been an eventful day, and they're all sore from their game yesterday. Tired.

Shea and I push through the front doors, inhaling the smell of sweat and concession stand foods. CNC is a unique place. It's home to the regional library, two indoor soccer fields, a gym, a pub, and two skating rinks. There's also a psychiatrist that has his practice upstairs. All they need to add in this area is a grocery store and a gas station. Then they'd have everything.

The locker rooms are at the back of the building, but that's not where we're heading. Instead, we turn and head for the stands. Uncle Aiden is there with Hunter's hockey bag. He stuck around to watch the other teams play.

As we walk around the corner, my shoulder collides with another body. Both of us stumble, which causes Shea to slide his arm around my waist and steady me.

"Little late to catch the game."

Shea's body tenses.

Disgust fills my chest.

It's Connor.

"We're not here to watch your game, Watt," Shea says.

Connor cocks an eyebrow, waiting for Shea to continue on. Which Shea doesn't do. Why Shea and I are here isn't any of Connor's business.

I link my arm through Shea's. "Let's go."

Shea and I take a couple of steps before Connor grabs Shea's shoulder. He spins us around.

"Smith," Connor drawls. His eyes flip back and forth between us. "We're having a party tomorrow. A kick-off for the playoffs, if you will. My place. Hope to see you there. Both of you."

Shea glances at Connor's hand. "Thanks for the invite, but we'll pass."

Connor's hand tightens on Shea's shoulder. His previously injured shoulder. The pressure beneath Connor's grip causes Shea to flinch. "I said, we're looking forward to seeing both of you there."

I step forward, ready to swing my fist. Violence is never the answer, but Connor brings out the worst in me. For good reason, too.

Connor lets go of Shea and flashes me a grin. "Don't get excited, Harrison." He reaches out and taps my nose. "Save that for tomorrow."

Shea grabs Connor's wrist. "Don't fucking touch her."

Connor snorts, wrenching his wrist from Shea's grip. "Calm down, Smith." His gaze flicks from head to toe. "Fucking pussy-whipped."

Neither of us say another word. Connor isn't worth our time or effort. He's a bully that will never listen or change.

Connor's grin broadens. "Catch you two later."

We watch as Connor saunters out of the building.

Shea shakes his head as soon as Connor's out of sight. "Fucking hate that kid."

Then he pushes through the door leading to the stands, leaving me alone and chuckling. Shea may not know the best way to express his emotions, but he has no filter around Connor.

Smiling, I follow Shea through the doors.