Page 52 of Blades Out
"Yes, Coach."
"Hudson, Parker—I need you eating up minutes. No mistakes."
Both nodded.
"Harding." Barrett's voice softened slightly. "They're going to test you early. Physical play, trash talk, whatever gets under your skin. Don't bite."
Sam's jaw set. "Won't be a problem."
"It better not be." Barrett looked around the circle slowly. "This team has talent. What we need tonight is composure. We stay calm, we stay smart, we walk out of here with two points. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach."
"Good." He clapped once more. "Bring it in."
Sticks extended toward the center. Twenty gloved hands piled on top.
"Team on three. One, two, three?—"
"TEAM!"
The circle broke.
Players scattered toward the tunnel—voices rising again, energy shifting from focused to loose. Game day swagger returning.
I stood motionless. Let them flow past me like water around stone.
Barrett caught my eye. Nodded once.
I returned it.
Then—stupidly, reflexively—I looked up.
The stands were empty. Just rows of plastic seats reflecting fluorescent light. No small figure hunched forward. No hair-catching shadows. No eyes that saw too much.
Gone.
My chest tightened. Stupid reaction. Completely irrational. She had a job. Responsibilities. No reason to sit through our entire practice watching plays she didn't understand.
I knew that. Didn't stop the hollow ache spreading through my ribs.
You have no right.
I turned toward the tunnel and didn't look back.
Chapter 11
Olivia
The roar hit me before I even stepped inside. Sound—massive, vibrating, alive—rolled through the corridor like a physical thing. Voices layered over music, over skate blades cutting ice, over announcements I couldn't make out through the chaos.
My stomach twisted.
I shoved through the staff entrance early, pulse already hammering. Wanted time to settle before the real rush started.
Too late.
The café line wrapped around the corner. Bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, voices competing for attention, faces flushed with pre-game adrenaline.
