Cheers erupted from the crowd as the buzzer sounded and the scoreboard changed. Much to my dismay, the bright red letters now read 4-0, Falcons.

Being the away team always kind of sucked, but it was especially bad when you were getting your ass handed to you like we were.

Our goalie, Eddie Mendez, threw his stick and let out a string of colorful curses that we could hear clearly from the opposite side of the arena. I watched, waiting to see if Coach Brown was going to pull him, but he stayed on. My brother, Derek, pulled off his blue and white gloves and skated off to the away bench, shaking his head. I knew he was upset with himself over the botched defensive play, not with Mendez for letting it in.

And beside the net, Chase Carter—left winger for the Falcons—did a celebratory fist pump, gliding over to the home bench to high-five his teammates and gloat, like he always did. Irritation rippled through me.

"I hate him," I muttered.

Amelia nodded. "Me too. He's the worst."

There weren't many players that I had a strong emotional reaction to, good or bad, but Carter was one of them. He was the definition of obnoxious. Cockiness in a crimson jersey.

Smugness on skates.

Sure, he was good—a gritty first- or second-line winger in a D1 league—but his massive ego was disproportionate relative to his level of skill. And he was notorious for trash-talking and causing fights between our respective teams. Specifically, for causing fights that ended with us taking penalties and the Falcons scoring while we were short-handed.

He wasn't just chippy, either; he was downright devious.

At the end of the regular season last spring, Carter and Derek crossed paths in the second period. Despite the fact that Carter was clearly the instigator, Derek received a game misconduct while Carter got off scot free. Losing my brother really hurt, given the team was already down several other defensemen due to injuries. In the end, we lost by one goal—and missed out on qualifying for the playoffs. Derek was still holding a grudge against Carter over that incident. And so was I.

Amelia and I fell silent again, watching the massacre on the ice continue. Or Amelia did, anyway. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Luke. Even when he was on the bench, it was impossible to focus on anything other than him for more than a few seconds.

Amelia nudged me with her elbow. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." I wrapped my arms around body, wishing I'd worn a jacket over my grey hoodie. Boyd University's arena, Northridge Center, was always bitterly cold, but I'd been in such a daze that I hadn't even thought about it before walking out the door.

"Have you guys talked since?"

"Kind of," I said. "Not really."

Luke had sent me a string of increasingly frantic apology texts earlier this afternoon. Not trying to get me back so much as clearly attempting to perform damage control, echoing last night's pleas to remain friends. At first, I ignored him, but after his fifth text I finally caved and replied, telling him it was fine (it obviously wasn't) and that I just needed some time (as in, forever). Partly because I was a pushover, and partly because I didn't want drama between us to take his head out of the game tonight. Regardless of how I actually felt, I needed to placate him so he didn't blow it for the rest of the team.

Despite that, Luke was almost unrecognizable on the ice tonight—slow, distracted, and all kinds of useless. He had already taken more penalties than he had in any game last season. Stupid penalties too, like obvious hooking and blatant high-sticking. I couldn't even blame Carter for those.

The rest of the team wasn't faring much better. They were clearly upset with their lackluster performance, which was taking their heads out of the game and fueling a vicious cycle.

I was so frustrated just watching that I wanted to tear my hair out.

Amelia leaned forward, squinting at the players' bench. "Ugh, what now?"

Paul and Carter were engaging in some sort of verbal back and forth through the plexiglass dividing the benches. Carter chirped something and in response, Paul wound up and lobbed his water bottle over the partition, aiming for Carter's head. He dodged it at the last minute and discreetly flipped Paul off while the coaches weren't looking. But of course, the coaches saw the water bottle toss that preceded it.

Like I said: devious.

Coach Brown shook his head and stormed over to Paul, pointing to the hallway and sending him to the locker room to change early. Carter leaned his head back and laughed, fist-bumping Ward beside him. The Falcons' coach shot them both a warning look and their expressions sobered, but I swore I could still see the smirk on Carter's face from across the ice.

"Carter again," Amelia huffed. "That asshole."

"But they're buying right into it," I pointed out. "He's playing them like a fiddle."

"I know. I guess it's a good thing Jillian had to work," she said. "That way she doesn't have to watch this train wreck." Jillian was our other roommate and had been dating the Bulldogs' goalie, Mendez, for the past eight months. Mendez wasn't faring well tonight at all, so it was probably better for both of them that she wasn't here to witness it.

Four minutes later, the buzzer sounded and the game ended with a final score of 5-0. It was bad enough to lose the Falcons, our rival team, but the shutout really added insult to injury. Especially since Luke was usually one of our top scorers.

*

Amelia and I made our way out of the stands and stood in the concourse, eating concession popcorn and waiting for the team. It took longer than normal for them to change and debrief, probably because Coach Brown was tearing them a new one. Rightly so.

Paul was one of the first to emerge from the locker rooms, shoulders dropped and face drawn.

Amelia shot me an apologetic look. "Sorry, I've just got to go see him for a sec."

"It's fine." I waved her off. Just because my relationship was toast didn't mean I expected Amelia to abandon hers.

She darted over to greet him, and he leaned down, embracing her in a huge hug that made my heart ache. I clenched my teeth and stuffed the sadness back down. But more difficult to ignore was the fact that I was now standing alone in the concourse like some kind of lurker. Other Bulldogs teammates started to emerge, but no one came over to me.

No one even waved or said hi.

My stomach twisted. What, exactly, was my end game here? Did I really think I was going to go out with them after what had happened? Obviously, I hadn't thought this through.

I took out my phone and pretended to be occupied while debating whether I should wait for Derek or call an Uber and bail. My breath caught as Luke trudged out of the locker room, blond hair still damp, expression stony. He glanced over to the throng of people—his friends, who until today I'd thought were mine, too—then back over to where I was standing alone. Our eyes locked, but neither of us knew what to do.

With a noticeable air of reluctance, he walked over to me. "Hey."

"Hey." I locked my phone, sliding it into my back pocket. "Some tough breaks out there tonight. Good effort, though."

He shrugged, but his tense expression spoke volumes. "We'll get them next time."

"Totally." I nodded. "So..."

We stood, bathed in painful silence, for what seemed like an hour but was probably less than a minute. Humiliation swelled within my gut. Why had I come? Because I thought Luke would change his mind? Or because I thought he'd realize he made a mistake?

I was the one who'd made a mistake.

Starting with him.

"Come on, Morrison," Heath hollered, waving at him impatiently. The team was clustered around the front doors, surrounded by girlfriends and hangers-on, beginning to make their way to the exit. Just two days ago, I would have been there too.

"In a second," Luke called, looking over his shoulder. He glanced back at me. "Uh, I should go."

"Okay."

Derek wasn't out yet, always one of the last to leave the locker room. But once he was, he'd be out the door right behind them. I knew where my brother's loyalties fell, and it wasn't with me. It's not like he could help, anyway. Tagging along with them was out of the question, which meant I was about to go home and cry into a pint of ice cream while watching Grey's Anatomy re-runs. I didn't need company for that.

"I'll text you," Luke said. I wanted to say don't bother, but I just nodded and walked away, heading for the women's bathroom. I could hide in there until they left.

As I pushed open the swinging door, my phone vibrated with a new text.

Amelia: Where are you going? Are you coming with us?

Bailey: Too weird with Luke. Heading home.

Amelia: You sure? I can come with you.

Bailey: No, it's okay. I'm fine. Just need some alone time.

I used the bathroom, washing my hands as slowly as possible and trying to ensure they would be gone before I came back out. As I finished drying my hands with a paper towel, Zara texted, responding to a message I'd sent her earlier about Luke.

Zara: I'm so sorry, hon. Are you okay? Are you at home right now?

Bailey: No, I'm at Northview.

Then I realized that Zara would have no idea what that meant. She was a fellow journalism major, also on the school paper, and one of my only friends not enmeshed in the world of hockey.

Bailey: I mean, I'm at the Boyd U arena. Game just ended so now I'm headed home for the night.

Zara: The hell you are. Noelle and I are taking you dancing. Stay put and send me the location. I'll be there in ten.

Gee, I wonder where they're going to end up.