19. Spencer

CHAPTER 19

SPENCER

W e weren't just losing.

We were getting slaughtered.

This close to the cup, this couldn't be happening. We couldn't afford to lose, but we were dying . Penalty after penalty, flub after flub — it was like we'd all grown ourselves an extra left foot.

I scored one goal six minutes in. That was our first goal, and our last one. I swung around after, peering out at the stands, trying see if I could spot Izzy up there. But the crowd was too dense. I couldn't see jack. She hadn't texted me either, to wish me good luck. She'd never not done that in all the time we'd been friends.

"Keep it up," bellowed Dan, and thumped me on the back.

I fully intended to, but something had changed. I couldn't get my bearings. Couldn't handle the puck. My stick had gone heavy, my legs stiff and numb. My head felt too full, and I couldn't focus. I missed a clear shot, my reflexes jamming. Dan pulled up short and I slammed into his back. Enrique came within inches of scoring an own-goal, then the other team swooped in and scored for real. Rodriguez got into a dumb, half-assed brawl, and got his ass sent to the penalty box. We were playing like clowns, and the harder I fought it, the worse it got.

We took the ice for third period, and I scanned for Izzy again. I spotted Leon and felt my heart soar, but when I checked to each side of him, I didn't see Izzy. She'd really not come, then. She'd blown me off.

Rage spiked in my chest, and I gripped my stick tight. So, fine, whatever. She didn't feel how I felt. But we were still friends, or at least I'd thought so. Friends showed up for each other. Friends?—

I loused up the face-off, still stewing on Izzy. The crowd roared their fury. I stormed after the puck. I got hold of it briefly and broke us back out, but my butthurt-fueled effort was too little, too late. We had the puck a whole twenty seconds, then Rodriguez chipped it, and I missed it on the rebound.

Why didn't she want me?

What was in New York?

I chased after the action, pissed at myself. Now who was the shitty friend, trying to hold her back? Putting my own wants ahead of her dreams? Maybe she'd sensed that, and she'd backed off.

But it hurts she's not here. We're still best friends… right?

"Moron," I muttered, hating myself. My breath puffed out white from under my mask. I sucked a lungful of air and blew it out through my teeth, and did it again till my head felt clearer. The game snapped into focus, but we'd already lost. I'd jinxed the whole team with my half-ass playing, and nothing I did could pull us together. We defended our goal for the last fifteen minutes, and the score finished up five-one against us.

"What was with you tonight?" Dan bumped my elbow. "You started out strong, but then you lost it. Is it your leg again? You been doing your stretches?"

"Shut up," said Enrique. "Leave him alone."

I ignored both of them and headed straight off the ice. A couple of reporters stopped me for a quote. I gave them the usual line, how I was proud of my teammates, how they'd fought hard. How no one wins every game, but we'd be back strong. They asked about my injury and I said I was fine, scanning over their shoulders for a glimpse of Leon. I should've looked behind me, because he'd slipped through the gate, past the tired guard on duty. He was waiting by the benches by the locker room.

"Hey," he said, when I turned and saw him.

I pulled off my helmet. "Hey. Glad you made it."

"You looked good," he said.

I made a sound like tch .

"No, really. You did. You scored the only goal."

"Except those four for the other team, or did you miss those?" I heard how I sounded, all snippy and sour. "Sorry," I said. "Just, y'know, losing… Where's Izzy tonight?"

Leon peered past me. "In the bathroom, I think. She said she'd come meet us. But, I don't know. I should just take her home. She wasn't feeling too good, something she ate."

My chest swelled with elation — she'd come after all — then quickly deflated, guilt rushing in. I'd been out there all petty, thinking the worst, and Izzy had been here sick the whole time. She'd done her friend duty and then some, and I'd been a jerk.

But she's still leaving. There's still New York.

"Hey, Leon, uh?—"

" There you guys are!" Izzy waved at us from behind the gate. The guard raised his brows at me and I motioned her in. She came over to join us and I saw she looked pale. Her skin had a greenish cast under her tan. I looked away quickly, burning with shame. And it wasn't just shame, but a whole tide of feeling — hurt and rejection, sadness and longing. Hot, childish anger at her, at myself. If I stuck around to talk to her, it might all spill out. She didn't deserve that. She'd done nothing wrong.

"I should go," I said.

Izzy stopped in her tracks. She looked like I'd slapped her, and my guilt surged anew.

"What the hell, man?" said Leon.

I sniffed at my shoulder. "I stink from the game."

It was a lame excuse, and Izzy didn't buy it. Her lips went tight and she nodded at Leon. "I'll wait in the car. I'm sick anyway." She turned and strode off before I could stop her, and Leon rounded on me.

"What crawled up your ass? You gotta act like a dick?"

I had no good response to that, so I only shrugged. Leon's lip pulled back, and I thought he might sock me.

"I get you had a bad night, but so did she. And she came out anyway. She came to support you, and you blew her off. Did you guys have some fight you haven't told me about?"

"No fight," I said. "I'm just tired and grouchy. Tell her sorry for me?"

"Tell her yourself. And you better bring chocolates. And some ginger tea, in case she's still sick." He stomped off after Izzy, leaving me to my shame spiral. I watched him march past the guard, then I went to my locker. I pulled out my phone, and saw that Izzy had texted.

Good luck! We just got here. We'll be cheering you on!

"I'm an asshole," I muttered.

"Well, you played like one tonight."

I spun on my heel to find Coach Nelson behind me. He pointed at the bench and I sat down.

"I'm disappointed," he said. "You could be my best player, but it's like I keep saying. You aren't consistent. You play great some nights, then some nights you play lousy, and I never know which side I'll get on the ice. What happened out there?"

I stared at my skates, too tired to feel angry. All that had drained out of me when Izzy walked out. All I felt now was exhaustion and loss.

"Hey. Did you hear me? What happened out there?"

I tried to think of an answer to satisfy Coach Nelson, to get that big vein to cool down and quit throbbing. His brows had finally met in the middle, his glare was so deep, his pique so profound.

"I got distracted," I said.

"Distracted? By what?"

I couldn't tell him the truth. The truth was too stupid. How had love made me stupid, but Izzy stayed smart?

Because she wasn't in love.

"Losing," I said. "My head got all messed up. Picturing us losing, me screwing up. I got so caught up trying to keep that from happening, I guess I forgot we were out there to win."

Nelson's whole face scrunched up, a mask of disgust. "I've told you not to do that. Didn't I tell him?" He cast about the locker room, though it was mostly empty. The few players still changing kept their backs turned. "I told you a million times, you picture us winning . Visualization, I told you. It's key. Whatever you visualize, that's how it happens. You picture us losing, you get us killed."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, ‘sorry' won't win any games. What I need to hear from you is, you're gonna do better. You're done with this bullshit, this… this… It's like you want to lose, almost — or, no. That's not right. Like you're so sure you're gonna lose, so sure you're a loser, you can't help but picture it, and then we do lose. You need to snap out of it, and make it fast. You screw up our next game, we're out of the playoffs."

I knew that already, but it still hurt to hear. The whole team was counting on me, and so were the fans. Tonight had been my fault, not Izzy's, just mine.

I needed to step back from her before I hurt us both. Before I blew up our friendship and my career.