It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,71

give up everything. I’d give up Julian if everything could just be okay. If he could be.

“Start the car,” Julian instructs.

But all of this is taking too long. Everything is moving so slow now. We are moving so slow. It starts to rain. Icy drops that send kids screaming to their cars.

The trunk slams.

Ben turns the key, and the car jumps to life. He flips the vents to high, so the heat will get to me.

“What’s the matter? Truth hurts?” Anderson calls, and I hear the other Danbury players trying to calm him down.

Eric has always told me that hockey is filled with rivalry. Fueled by it, really. That “one man can only live if the other one dies” sort of rivalry. But this seems more than that. This feels dangerous. Hopeless, because I know that this Anderson person is not going to stop. Not until Julian takes the bait. I taste salt. We caused this by coming here.

Julian kneels. Our eyes meet, and in his gaze I can see the desire to hold on to this moment, to not be sucked into the insanity that’s headed for him, but also the realization that he’s not going to be able to. “Just go home,” he says. “I’ll text you later.”

“I’m just saying it’s kind of sick. You know?” Anderson is directly behind Julian now.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “It doesn’t matter.”

With the pad of his thumb, he wipes the tears off my face. He closes my thin wrap. “I had such a good time with you at the dance. I’m glad you came.”

I grab his hand. “Let’s leave together. Now. We can finish the night on our terms.”

“If you’re done with her, maybe I could have a go?” Anderson says. “Maybe when I’m done with her, she’ll be able to walk right.”

Julian’s face tightens. I try to hold on to him, but he pulls his hand from mine, closes my door, and he’s gone.

Twenty-Five

The next few moments are a blur. I watch helplessly as Julian rears back and throws the first punch. It sends that Anderson kid stumbling backward. I hear it, too, the sound of fist against face. The grunt of the person hit. There’s blood. So much blood. Chip tries to pull Julian back. Dave, too, but the Danbury players can’t hold Anderson, either. A circle surrounds the boys, and I’m screaming and screaming.

Red and blue lights flash in the distance.

I hear a siren. Kids race for their cars. Tires screech. The world is spinning.

Ben throws his car into drive. We are moving. Away from Julian.

“Where are you going?” I bang on the dashboard. “Stop. We have to stop them.”

“Police,” Rena points at the four cop cars that now descend on the parking lot.

“They’ll stop them,” I say, mostly to myself. “They’ll stop them.”

A helicopter flies above us, spotlight sweeping the ground. The players break away and race in all different directions. I can’t see if Julian is one of the guys who got away or if he’s still on the ground. Someone is. An ambulance passes us on our way out of the high school, and I’m crying and Rena’s crying and Ben is scared mute.

“That looked bad, didn’t it?” I say. “I mean, an ambulance.”

“It’s probably protocol,” Ben says.

Rena is working her phone like mad. “Shayna says they loaded one of the players in the ambulance. She isn’t sure which one.”

We pull into the driveway and Mom and Dad are outside. Mom has her arms folded in front of her, stamping in the cold to get warm. Dad is pacing. As Ben pulls into the driveway, they practically attack the car.

“Where’ve you been?” Dad demands.

“We’ve been texting you since we heard,” Mom says.

“Heard what?” I ask. Eric taught me it’s always useful to know what info they have before giving them more.

“About what they did at the dance. Which was over an hour ago. Where have you been?”

I hold up my smashed phone. “Sorry.”

“Let’s get you inside,” Mom says. “You’re freezing.”

“I want to know where my daughters have been,” Dad says, fuming, and I don’t want Ben to be the recipient of his ire.

“Let’s go inside, David,” Mom says, “Then we can figure out who is to blame.”

“It wasn’t Ben’s fault,” I say, but my teeth are chattering, despite the blanket Mom’s wrapped around me.

“We need to get you in the shower,” Mom says. “You’re too cold.” And now she’s crying and that just feels like the cherry on the sundae.

“I’ll take her,” Rena says. “I’ll help her.”

“I’ll