I crouch next to him, uncaring about the spray of water that gets on my face and clothes. “Boone, bro. We’re here. You’re safe.”
He cracks a single, weary eye. His wet hair is plastered to his skull. “Hansen?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “You’re in good hands. Doc is here.”
He nods, swallowing. “I got this. I’m good. Need my uniform.”
He starts to move around then sees the IV in his arm. His forehead creases, and he shakes his head. “No. No. Please don’t. Coach, I wanna play. My parents are here—”
His chest lurches forward as he gags. Nothing comes out but dry heaves. He falls back, his cheek pressing against the tile wall. “Eric,” he breathes. “Don’t tell my parents, yeah? I’ll be fine. Make something up. Say I have a fever or something.”
Damn, he probably does have a fever.
I groan inwardly. His parents need to know. They’ll want to be at the hospital with him.
Coach and the doctor have stepped back a few feet, and I hear them discussing getting his parents’ cell numbers from the records they have in Coach’s office.
Boone hears them, defeat settling on his face as his eyes water.
I want to fix this. Fix him.
He’s just a kid. I mean, he’s only two years younger than me, but he’s like a baby compared to me. He’s so damn trusting. And nice. He didn’t deserve this shit.
I kneel closer, my clothes getting soaked. “What happened to you?”
He shivers violently. “They took us to the fields. Told us some creepy story about a girl with an axe. They let us loose to get through the maze, and every time we hit a dead end, we had to do a shot and remove a piece of clothing. It was pitch black and they didn’t give us flashlights. I-I wasn’t very good at the game. I got trashed, then couldn’t think straight . . .”
My lips tighten and Reece lets out a string of curses. The guys around us grumble, anger flashing on their faces.
Boone makes a fist with his hands. “At first it was fun, but I got separated from my friends. Maybe they made it out, I don’t know. I stayed there all night, freezing, and they still didn’t come for me. After that, I don’t know, man. I passed out.”
I exhale. “We’ve got you now.”
“I want to play. Please,” he begs, his voice cracking.
Two emotions ripple over me: worry for him and rage for the Kappas.
I squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve got to get better. There’ll be other games.”
He licks his lips. “You need me, Eric.”
“Nah. We’re gonna kill them without you. Just get better for the next game,” I say.
Coach appears behind me. “Hansen, Doc has this. Get suited up. You need to be on the ice.”
Taking one last look at Boone, I head off toward my locker to change.
19
Julia
I squeeze myself over the feet of other people in the row and take my seat between Taylor and Poppy.
“Who are our guys?” Taylor asks me, squinting.
I know he’s teasing.
“We’re the black and gold,” I say, craning my neck to spot Eric on the ice. I forgot to ask what number he was. I thought I’d be able to pick him out immediately, but these guys look the same.
Taylor takes a sip of his soda. “Okay, so what’s the purpose of this game?”
Poppy nudges him. “Those guys are going to try to get the puck-thingy in that net.” She points wildly. “And the other guys try to stop him from making a net, which is two points.”
I chuckle. “I think you’re confused with basketball.”
She shrugs. “It’s a distinct possibility. I’m not sporty.”
None of us are. Everyone around us wears their gold and black gear, and we’re, well . . . not. Taylor sports bright lavender, Poppy has her pearls and a pink cardigan, and I managed to find a black hoodie, but there’s no logo on it.
“Hmm, I’m wondering what makes this game so special tonight,” Poppy murmurs with a side eye at me.
“No reason,” I say tartly. Just thought Eric needed a morale boost since his parents never come.
They exchange a glance and blurt in unison like two schoolgirls. “Eric!”
They burst into giggles as I give them a warning look. “For the last time. We’re just bonding over—”
Taylor winks. “It’s okay if you no longer want to hate-fuck him anymore. Love-fucking isn’t as exciting.”
I scratch the side of my face with my middle finger, pointed right at him.