Chapter 6
Jamie
We lost.
We f*****g lost.
I’m still dazed as I trudge down the chute toward the locker rooms. The mood all around me is somber. Suffocating. Nobody is playing the blame game, though.
There’s no anger directed at Barkov, who tripped the Yale forward for no comprehensible reason—the guy didn’t even have the puck.
There’s no recrimination toward our defense, who inexplicably fell apart during that power play.
And there’s no accusation aimed my way, for not being able to stop that last shot from lighting the lamp.
But, inside…I blame myself.
I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve dived faster, extended my arm farther. I should’ve hurled my body on that damn puck and not let it get anywhere near the crease.
Numbness sets in. I’d been bummed my family didn’t make the trek
