"I can't believe Pman is out," Tristian says from the bedroom while the 5 of us in the bathroom try to share the hotel mirror to finish out hair and make up.

"I can't believe his real name is Preston," Maya confesses with a laugh.

"What did you think it was?" Parker is sitting behind us on the bathroom floor obsessively texting Bray. The team is on edge today with the line changes and despite having almost zero idea about hockey Parker is trying to be supportive.

"I don't know, I don't know where half their nicknames come from? Like Stan his real name is Alex, where the fuck did Stan come from?"

"Flat Stanley," I tell her while trying to get my eye black under each eye to look even. "He got slammed into the wall so many times Coach said he was going to be as flat as flat Stanley and the name stuck."

"Forget Stan, I thought Bray's real name was Bray until like yesterday when I heard Parker moaning it," Paulie adds also in the bedroom with Tristian.

"It's not!" Heather yells as she and a few others walk into our hotel room. The 15 of us are sharing 3 rooms but somehow our room became the hangout.

Parker rolls his eyes but says, "No, his last name is Brayden, thats where Bray came from."

"What's his first," I ask, realizing I don't even know it. Even on his social media Bray just uses Bray.

"Peter," Paulie barks before laughing like a hyena.

"No!" Luna screams, turning around to look at Parker who is flipping everyone off.

"Fuck you all, you're all jealous."

Tristian comes into the bathroom pretending to shoot webs from his wrists and rolls his eyes at Parker. "Ok dud, keep telling yourself that one."

"Play nice boys," I warn, finally stepping away from the mirror satisfied with my look. Maya grabs my chin and in the middle of the eye black draws a little 8 in white eyeliner. We all decided since the guys are so rattled about today to be as extra as possible supporting them, so a few of us have numbers drawn on our faces.

I leave the room and grab my phone off the charger. Captain Ryder is in full swing which means we haven't texted much at all, including to talk about Wednesday. I want to bring it up so badly but with everything else going on I don't want to be a distraction. Whatever the other night was talking about it now or later won't make a difference.

I snap a picture showing off the small 8 on my cheek and send it to Ryder. The little things mean more to him than anything else and I hope the picture can calm his nerves just a bit.

Thankfully the guys aren't on the ice so I get a quick response. I really shouldn't be this giddy about a text from the person I talk to basically 24/7 but when his name pops up on my lock screen my fingers move on their own accord to open the message.

Ryder: The number 8 has never looked better

Me: I disagree

Ryder: Name a better looking 8 Beck

Me: The 8 on your jersey but only when you wear it

Flirting with Ryder is a new thing for me but if I want to know if something is there then I need to occasionally take risks. The reason it took us so long to get to where things got on Wednesday is partly because I treat Ryder similar to how I treat the guys on my team. If I want things to break out of the friendzone than I need to break out myself because if I continue to wait for Ryder to tell me how he is feeling it will never happen.

Ryder: Yeah you, as in when you wear it not me. I see how you could get confused but I am glad we cleared that up before the game. See you later Butt.

"Fran?" Luna snaps her fingers in my face causing me to jump. "Are you ready?"

"Yup," I smile, getting up and walking with her to join everyone else in the hall.

"I don't like him still, but I love that smile," Luna whispers, leaning her head on my shoulder. Luna is the only one who knows about Wednesday. When we got home both of us got changed, turned out the light and got into bed. And then like it was freshman year all over again we spent an hour talking in the dark.

"If you love him," she starts but I cut her off.

"I am not sure I would say love. I like him but we just met a few months ago. I wouldn't go throwing that word around."

"Whatever you say," she sing-songs as we all pile out of the elevator.

I want to argue with her but she speeds up so we join our friends walking in front of us. I put a pin in what I wanted to say for now. Love Ryder? I care about Ryder that is true but love him? Besides that, could Ryder love me back? I can't throw those words out there even if that is what I feel, not until I know how he feels. I know he'd never intentionally hurt me but I still need to protect my heart.

We pile into a few cars and drive over to the arena making it in time for the starting line to be announced. They looked shocked to see us as they warm up, used to our perpetual lateness. Hopefully the surprise of us managing to be on time will distract from their own nerves.

Warm ups are interesting. You can tell the lines are different as everyone tries to establish chemistry as quickly as possible. Some of the guys have been on the same team for 4 years together yet never been on the ice together during a game. Not even 4 years of practice can change the lack of understanding they have with each other. On Ryders line, Ryder knows that when Tanner tilts his head to the side it means he has an angle for a shot. It isn't something Tanner even knew he did but something Ryder picked up after enough time together. I hate to doubt the team but I have a tight knot in my stomach as captains are called to the center of the ice.

It is weird to look at the first line on the ice and not see Ryder. The game starts and he isn't on the ice. I can see him on the bench fidgeting with his glove trying not to yell as the communication between the original first line and the guys stepping in almost instantly falls apart. It is like we can't even hold onto the puck because no one is ever open for each other.

Ryder finally gets on the ice and it is clear as day he is pissed. I know him, sometimes better than I know myself, and right now I know he is fully prepared to carry the team on his back. He will do anything to get this win today, blaming himself a lot for this whole situation. He swears that if he would have been upfront with Coach then Pman wouldn't have had to sit out a game. Everyone has tried to tell him that isn't true but his head can't let go of the thought that this is his fault. And now that though is what is bouncing around in his head festering as his team struggles.

"Fuck," I mutter as I wring my hands together.

"What is wrong," Parker asks.

I watch Ryder's beautiful pass get swept away by the opposing team's defense as, yet again, none of our guys manage to get open. "This game. It is a fucking disaster."

Maya sniffles behind me and I reach back for her hand. "This is my fault," she whimpers as I pull her down the bleachers so she is next to me.

"Maya there is only one person at fault here and his ass is sitting on the bench instead of helping his team. Do not for a second blame yourself. They guys are good, they're the first ranked team in the country for a reason. Yeah they are a little shaky now but they just need a shift to adjust, things will get better soon."

"Fryder gives my favorite pep talks," she muses while we focus back on the game. Mine and Ryders pep talks have become infamous. From our lectures after games, rallies at the bar, or even paragraphs in the group chat; when shit hits the fan we naturally fall into our place to fix things. Is our advice always the best? Well no, I actually would suggest ignoring us most of the time, but we try.

The shift changes keep coming and the chemistry is slowly repairing itself but we are still down 1-0 with only 2 minutes left in the first period. I have already completely lost my voice from screaming so loud and had to take off the layers I put on under Ryder's jersey because I was stress sweating so badly.

"Those two guys annoy me," Luna grumbles as the two defenders get on the ice the same time Ryder does. They have been annoying this entire game. They are unnecessarily aggressive, not enough to get them in trouble but they are definitely skating the line.

"I don't know how you do it Fran, I am so happy Bray is in the goal. If someone pushed him around the way Ryder gets pushed, I would go insane."

"He can hold his own," I say proudly as he dodges one of the defenders letting him slam into the wall instead.

I know Ryder is laughing at the guy as he tilts his head back and the defender tries to reach for Ryder but his friend pulls him away. With the tensions already so high the last thing Ryder should be doing is provoking a fight between the already aggressive asshole but I always knew hockey boys weren't smart.

Ryder manages to get the puck shortly after the little exchange and takes off with it. The time is ticking down to less than a minute but both defenders are tag teaming and heading straight for Ryder, leaving him no choice but to pass off the puck.

Of course Dunk, who the defenders left wide open, gets it and whips the puck into the net but even though Ryder no longer has the puck the defenders don't slow down. If anything I swear they skate faster, directly for him. I expect them to stop just before they hit Ryder, which is obnoxious but not illegal. No way are they going to ram into him at full speed when he doesn't have the puck.

But they do.

Dunk's shot is flying across the ice to the net but my eyes are on Ryder as the two burly guys slam into him full force. He hits the wall with an impact so loud it can be heard over the screaming fans. His helmet comes flying off and rolls across the ice as he crumbles to the ground in a heap.

The arena goes completely still as everyone waits for him to get up. Not even the refs move as they just stare at the whole situation in utter shock. "Fran," someone urges. Things are distorted as my ears ring, so I can't make out who said it.

"He's ok," I assure my voice unwavering.

Bray is the first to move as he rips his helmet off and takes off toward his best friend. "He's ok," I repeat again, though my voice is shaking just slightly as he still lays on the ice unmoving.

Several people on the ice grab onto Bray, guys from both teams, and hold him back before he can reach Ryder. He is thrashing around trying to break free as the refs finally rush over as their own fear kicks in.

"He's ok," I whimper. "Come on Ryder, get up."

Stan is trying to climb off the bench and get to Ryder too but his friends and teammates are holding him back, preventing him from getting on the ice. Paramedics have stepped on as the refs frantically wave at them to hurry.

People don't die playing hockey, I tell myself. But that's a lie. People die playing hockey more than people are willing to talk about. But Ryder can't, we haven't talked about Wednesday, we haven't gone to the zoo, I haven't gotten to wear his signed NHL jersey and brag that he is my best friend.

"Get up Ry," I say louder this time.

He still isn't moving and the panic finally hits me like a freight train. We are a couple rows back in the stands and I launch myself forward in an attempt to get closer to him. "Get up Ryder!" I scream, my voice finally breaking.

"Get up, get up!" I thrash around as my roommates hold me.

"No!" I scream. My cries reverberate off the quiet arena, amplifying them. My three roommates pile themselves on me in an attempt to shield me from seeing Ryder continuing to lay limp on the ice as I scream and kick and cry.