Page 122 of Ricochet
Stone tenses next to me.
Leaning over, he lowers his voice and says, “You need to get out of here. Now.”
I turn to look at him. “What? Why?”
“Because there’s a reason hedidn’tkill him.”
A chill sweeps across the ice and settles in my bones.
A deafening crack pierces the air. Less than a second later, one of the panes of tempered glass behind us shatters, spilling pieces out over the ice. All three of us duck, and Eric drops his stick. Stone covers my body with his, and I can feel his heart beating the same wild rhythm as mine at my back.
We wait, but another shot doesn’t come.
Instead, there’s a click over the sound system, some white noise followed by a voice that I’ve heard nearly every day for the past two years. For the first time, it reaches all the way down into that abyss, calling to the shadows. Summoning them.
“Well done, Mr. Wakefield. Too bad all your revelations came a bit too late.”
Stone stands, taking his gun out of the back waistband of his jeans. He moves around me, coming to stand in front of me, even though we can’t be sure where the shot came from. His head moves from side to side as he searches the darkened stands. One hand grips his gun, the other reaching behind him to grab onto my side, guiding us both in a slow circle.
Eric skates over to join us, standing at my back. I think it’s less an act of protection over me and more herd self-preservation. But then he and Stone share a brief glance and a nod, and I think maybe he’s trying to make up for last weekend.
Still scanning the stands, Stone shouts, his voice carrying through the arena. “Too much of a coward to show yourself?”
“It’s three against one, kid,” Coach’s booming voice says. “Not a coward. Just not stupid.”
“We’ll agree to disagree,” Stone snarls back. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I want you to stop killing my friends. And there’s only one way to stop a killer. Isn’t there, Stone?”
That chill that’s burrowed into my bones grows colder. I grip onto Stone’s hoodie and attempt to pull him back so he’s between me and Eric instead, but he refuses to budge.
Another shot rings out. This time, a pane of glass on the opposite side of the rink shatters. More glass ends up on this side of the ice than before. Assuming the same as me, Stone turns so that he’s facing that direction. In order to have hit the glass behind us, Coach must be high up in the stands, in the darkest parts of the shadows.
Where he’s always been. I just didn’t remember.
“You’re a terrible fucking shot!” Stone shouts.
“Stone.” I yank at his hoodie again, pissed at him for goading an enemy we can’t see.
“Am I?”
Do the others hear the smirk in Coach’s voice or is that just for me?
Eric leans over a little closer to us and speaks in a hushed voice. “I’m gonna try to make a run for it and get help.”
I think it’s a terrible fucking idea the moment he says it, but I’m not quick enough to stop him. Neither is Stone, not that I expected him to try.
Eric pushes his blades off the ice and speeds toward the open gate. He makes it, but as he steps one skate up into the bench, a third report explodes through the arena. Eric cries out and goes down, face forward, half his body on the ice and half off. He lies still.
“Eric!” I scream his name, but he doesn’t move.
Even though I’m worried about where he was shot, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Stone.
“Now it’s two to one,” Stone yells, still facing the way the shots are coming, hardly fazed by what just happened. “Ready to come out or are you still a coward?”
There’s no response. Everything is quiet save for mine and Stone’s heavy breathing, the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
Stone’s eyes scour the stands across from us like a hawk’s. His knuckles are white around the grip of his gun. His jaw ticks, his face nothing but hard lines and throbbing veins.