Page 24 of Playing Her Game

The count climbs. Five hundred. A thousand.

"A woman went to the hospital tonight because people decided her jersey was a reason to hurt her. She has stitches. She has a concussion. And some of you think that's fine because she was wearing Brooklyn colors and cheering for Kilovac and Faulker."

I pause. Let that sit for a moment.

"No fan of mine throws a bottle at a woman because she supports her team. A woman who will now be scarred by something you've done. I don't care what jersey she's wearing. I don't care what numbers are on her back."

Someone in the comment stream types something defending the attack, calling her a double-numbered, double-agent spy bitch for the Russians and Germans. I ignore it because, truly, you can't argue with someone that fucking stupid.

"We play in America. We play in Canada. If you are using my chirping on the ice or my name to justify hurting someone, you are not my fan."

The viewer count passes five thousand.

"If you think politics belong in the stands, stay home. If you think defending me means attacking her, you don't fucking know me or how I feel about violence that's not on the ice or a field being regulated by rules that both sides follow or pay a penalty."

My hand tightens around the phone.

"If you were the ones who caused a woman to get taken to the hospital, you will be dealt with. If you were in that arena tonight and did nothing, you'd better rethink what kind of person you are."

I end the feed.

The screen goes black, and I lower the phone.

Behind me, I hear the hospital doors open.

"Holy shit."

I turn.

Anna stands just outside the entrance, flanked by Lenzin, Aleks, Hildy, and Deacon Moretti. Her eyes are on me, wide and startled in a way that makes the stitches above her brow more visible.

She heard. They all did.

"You didn't have to⁠—"

"Yes," I say. "I did."

She doesn't answer immediately. Just looks at me like she's trying to decide whether I meant what I said or if I was performing for the camera.

I hold her gaze.

After a moment, she nods.

I pull up the ride app again. My flight leaves in two hours, and I still need to get through airport security.

"Cancel your ride," Aleks says.

I glance at him over my shoulder. "What?"

"You're not Uber-ing to the airport after this."

"I'm fine."

"That wasn't a suggestion."

Lenzin steps forward. "We'll get you there."

Anna crosses her arms, wincing slightly at the movement. "He's not wrong."