He’ll think I can’t keep my shit together when it really counts. Without even looking, I know the redheaded behemoth is assessing me-probably with a scowl on his bearded face. “Z? You good?” It’s Eric, my winger and best friend. Briefly, my thoughts go to the people in the stands.
My jaw tightens as I clench my fists, physically willing myself to push one skate in front of the other.ĭressed in our black and gold, the team and I move to the center of the rink and up to the faceoff.
Use it as energy.īut this…this feels different. It’s just nerves in front of the home crowd. Deep breaths usually chill me out when performance anxiety hits, but the arena spins, and I resist the urge to skate back to the bench and put my head between my legs. It doesn’t, and I inhale slowly through my nose then out through my mouth.
Sure, I scored two goals in the first two periods even after some heavy body checks, but that’s not enough if I want to break the tie.īut the more I think about the fact that my chest is thumping faster than it should, the worse it gets. I push those thoughts down and skate onto the rink, ignoring my out-of-control heartbeat. I picture the headlines now: D-1 hockey player dies during biggest rivalry event of the year. When I showed up for tonight’s game, I didn’t know it would try to kill me. Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)įor all the sparkly unicorns.
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