Page 123 of Ricochet
A noise nearly as loud as the gunshots echoes through the speakers like thunder. When a high-pitched buzz follows, I know Coach has dropped his mic.
The distraction is all it takes for Stone’s focus to falter. Even if it didn’t, I’m not sure either of us could’ve anticipated the next shot that follows. The blast is louder. Closer. Stone lets out a loud grunt before his knees buckle and he’s falling to the ice. I grab onto him, try to hold him up, but it’s no use. The gun slips from his hand and slides a couple feet away.
Blood pours from Stone’s leg, turning the ice red. His jeans quickly become soaked around the wound in his thigh.
I kneel beside him, my gaze flying between him and the dropped gun.
Making a decision, I leap up and go for the weapon.
“Don’t do it, Hayes.”
I freeze a foot away.
Looking up, I see Coach Hill directly in front of me, his gun aimed at my chest, striking terror inside it. My spine snaps up straight, and I take a step back, instinctively raising my hands in the air.
Staring down the barrel of Eric’s gun, I wasn’t afraid he’d shoot me.
Coach’s gun?
Fear unleashes the shadows, and they fly free, enveloping me in a dark blanket of cold. They wrap their tendrils around my throat. It’s not in the comforting, safe way that Stone does. It’s suffocating. Terrifying.
Coach takes a step forward, and I take another one back, my joints stiff. Stone grunts as he tries to push himself across the ice toward his gun, reaching out his left hand for it, his fingers inches away. Coach gets there first. His heavy foot comes down, crunching Stone’s hand beneath his shoe. Stone lets out a pained roar.
With a laugh that has the grip around my throat tightening, Coach lifts his foot and kicks the gun away where it bounces off the boards.
Stone slumps over on the ice, cradling his hand and panting.
Turning his focus back on me, Coach slowly approaches. This time, I stand my ground.
“I was really hoping you wouldn’t remember, Callum.” His mock frown turns into a nauseating smirk. “Though, when I got the job here a couple years ago, I was almost hurt you didn’t.”
I drop my arms to my sides. Not because I’m not afraid. Because I’m so sick and tired ofbeingafraid. And, right now, I’m a little more justsick. Nauseous. The way he’s looking at me has me close to vomiting all over the ice even though I’ve already emptied my stomach.
Raising my chin, I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself.”
“I’ve seen you in the locker room.” He steps closer, close enough to touch. He lowers his gun to run the barrel up my side over the scar he left. “I’ve seen my marks on you.” Lifting the weapon again, he uses it to brush a sweaty strand of hair off my face. “You still kind of do it for me.”
Yup. I’m definitely about to puke all over him.
Bile rises in my throat, and I want to crawl out of my fucking skin.
“Get the fuck away from him, you nasty fuck!” Stone shouts, his voice strained and desperate. He’s fighting harder than ever to make it to his feet, but between his leg, his crushed hand, and his own blood slicking the ice, he goes nowhere.
“Stay down, Wakefield,” Coach says calmly without looking back at him. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
Selfishly, I might be glad he’s going to kill me first. I hate that for Stone, but…I don’t want my last memory to be of him dying. It’s selfish, but it’s my last remaining solace.
“Go ahead and kill me,” I tell him as he moves his gun down to my jaw in a revolting caress that turns my stomach. “It won’t be any worse than what you’ve already done to me.”
He takes two steps back, his gun aimed at my chest and that fake frown returning. “So quick to forget me again.”
I shake my head. “You’ve already been erased.”
When I look at Stone for what I expect to be the last time, I see the tears in his eyes first. It’s those tears that make me want to fight.
Then I see the knife in his hand.
And that’s when I know Iwillfight this time.