Can’t take it anymore

Riven

The intermission ended and the third period started. The players skated back onto the ice, sticks tapping against the boards, the crowd cheering again as the puck dropped.

I scanned the Vipers’ lineup instinctively. My eyes moved across the familiar jerseys… and then stopped.

Kael wasn’t out there.

The big, cocky guy who had dominated the first two periods was gone. In his place on the second line was some other player I didn’t recognize — a different face, different number. The replacement looked decent enough, but he didn’t move like Kael. He didn’t own the ice the same way.

I tried to make my face neutral, like I didn’t care. Like his absence didn’t register at all. I even forced my gaze back to the play, pretending to watch the Razorbacks push forward.

Dex, beside me, was completely locked in. He didn’t seem bothered by Kael’s sudden disappearance. His eyes stayed glued to the rink, jotter balanced on his knee, pen moving steadily. He was taking this scouting assignment seriously — noting strengths, weaknesses, how each Viper transitioned, and how their defense rotated. Like his life depended on getting every detail right for Coach.

My eyes drifted to his jotter. He had already filled pages, and one name stood out more than the others — Kael’s. Dex had written:

“Kael Dravin — strong face-offs, excellent vision, aggressive forecheck. Playing very well until sudden distraction in third period. Lost puck badly, led directly to tying goal. Now benched. Coach pulled him after the goal. Possible injury or personal issue?”

I swallowed.

“Hey,” I asked, trying to sound casual, “so you too noticed not seeing Kael?”

Dex narrowed his eyes at the ice, pen still scratching away. “Seems he’s out. He was playing weird before that last goal. Maybe his dad kicked him out.” He shrugged. 

Everyone knows the Vipers’ coach is also Kael’s father.

I nodded slowly, pretending the information didn’t sit strangely in my chest. Kael… benched. He wasn’t even benched because I couldn’t see him anywhere at all.

Dex glanced sideways at me, his attention finally shifting for a second. “Anyway, how’s your arm?”

I instinctively pressed my hand tighter over the small scratch on my forearm. It was just a shallow line from when we’d walked into the arena earlier – my arm had caught on some sharp metal edge sticking out from a barricade. I hadn’t even noticed it at first. Only when Dex pointed out the thin trail of blood did I realize. It wasn’t deep or long, just a minor scrape that was still oozing a little.

“Still bleeding a bit,” I replied quietly, keeping my palm pressed over it. “But it’s not that much. Just a scratch.”

Dex frowned. “You sure? We can leave if it’s bothering you. Coach would understand.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve already come this far.”

He studied me for another second, then went back to his jotter, adding another note about the replacement player’s positioning.

I kept my hand firmly over the scratch, feeling the faint warmth of fresh blood against my palm. It stung a little, but it was nothing serious. Nothing worth making a fuss over.

Still, my gaze kept drifting toward the Vipers’ bench, searching for that tall frame even though I told myself I didn’t care. Kael was sitting there now, out of the game. Part of me wondered if he was watching the stands. If he’d noticed me.

I pulled my sleeve down a little further and leaned back in my seat, hood still low, trying to focus on the game like Dex was doing.

It wasn’t working.

The scratch kept throbbing faintly under my hand, a small, annoying reminder of how clumsy I’d been earlier. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at Kael and noticed he looked like someone who couldn't breathe. I hoped he was okay, or maybe not!

I tried to focus on the game, but my mind kept drifting. The Vipers were pushing hard to break the 3-3 tie, but my eyes kept flicking toward their bench. Kael was still sitting there, helmet off, looking tense. The replacement player was doing okay, but the team felt… off without him.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Unsaved number. Of course it was Kael.

What does he want now? I thought, sighing. I really should have blocked him earlier.

The message was short and demanding:

Unsaved number: The game will soon end. Meet me in the locker room now. Be quick about it.

My eyes narrowed. What the hell did Kael really want? I looked toward the Vipers’ bench again and froze. Kael was gone. He must have slipped out while I was reading the text. That was fast.

I glanced around the stands. No one was paying attention to me. Dex especially was completely absorbed, eyes locked on the rink, pen flying across his jotter as he noted every shift and play. The rest of the sparse crowd was focused on the action too.

I swallowed hard, pocketed my phone, and stood up quietly. No one even glanced my way as I slipped out of the row and made my way through the corridor toward the locker room area.

I stopped in front of the Vipers’ locker room door, heart beating a little too fast. Why the hell am I even doing this? I thought. I raised my knuckles to knock, then stopped midway. This was stupid. I should just turn around and go back to my seat.

Just as I turned to leave, the door swung open.

A strong hand grabbed my arm and yanked me inside.

Everything happened in a flash.

My back slammed against the cold steel lockers with a loud metallic bang. The impact jolted through me, and a small whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it. The door clicked shut behind us, the sound echoing in the empty room.

Kael was right in front of me, breathing hard, hot puffs of air brushing my face. His body was so close I could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. He was shaking slightly — not the usual confident, cocky shake, but something tighter, more uncontrolled. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his jaw was clenched so hard the muscles ticked.

He didn’t look okay at all.

My eyes widened in genuine worry. “Hey… you alright?”

Kael’s voice came out low, slow, and shaky, almost a whisper. “Don’t you ever take suppressants, you son of a bitch?”

I blinked, completely confused. Suppressants? What the hell was he talking about?

I stared at him.

“What?”