Page 19 of Payback On The Ice

"That's good. I thought you might." He pats my shoulder with his other hand. "Take care of yourself."

He lets go.

I keep skating. I don't know how. My legs just do it. I get to the end of the line and the gate to the tunnel and I don't stop, I just go straight down the tunnel and into the room in the ninety-degree heat, and I sit down in my stall in all my gear and I put my head between my knees.

Behind me, I hear skates on rubber. Somebody stops in the doorway.

I lift my head.

Dane is there, mask in his hand. He's breathing hard from the game, sweat running down his neck into his collar. He looks at me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. His eyebrows are pulled together a little, his mouth open like he's going to say something.

He was right behind me in the line. He watched Marrack hold on.

"What," I say.

He doesn't answer. He looks at me for a second longer. Then Gunnar shoves past him into the room, cursing about the ref, and the rest of the team piles in after, and the moment is gone. Dane goes to his stall. He doesn't look at me again.

The bus back to Graymoor is four hours in the dark. Nobody talks to me, which is fine. I sit by myself near the back with my hood up and my forehead against the cold window and watch the pine trees go by in the headlights.

At midnight, my phone buzzes.

Cole: hey

Cole: sorry about tonight

Cole: I mean mikey. he's not mad at you. he's scared

Me: I know

Cole: marrack talked to you in line didn't he

Me: yeah

Cole: ok

Cole: don't do anything stupid

Cole: he means it T. he pulled reese's money last spring for missing a lift. he's not bluffing

Me: I'm not going to say anything

Cole: I know. I'm just saying

Cole: you good?

My thumb hovers over the screen.

Me: I'm good

I put the phone face down on my thigh. My knee's bouncing. I can't make it stop.

"You played scared."

I look up.

Dane's across the aisle. I don't know when he sat there. The bus is dark, just the little blue running lights on the floor, and his face is all shadows. He's looking at me. Not at my phone. At me.

My chest goes tight. I should say something. Something sharp, something funny, something about how goalies don't get to have opinions about forwards.