Page 35 of Rise Above

The boards rattled as the Orbs’ fighter shoved me

into them harder than necessary. He’d had it out for me all game. He slammed into me again, pushing my face a little too hard against the glass. Then he hooked his stick under my skates, and I lost my footing. My chin smashed into the ice, and my teeth sunk into my tongue. Blood immediately filled my mouth as a whistle sounded. Blood spewed out of my mouth and onto the arena ice. I could hear the gasps of the crowd as I struggled to my feet. A wave of dizziness hit me as more blood dripped down my chin. Next thing I knew, I was being escorted off the ice. The crowd wavered around me as I walked, black spots hitting my vision as blood trailed down my chin.

Lights flashed in my eyes the second my ass hit the

training table. They were checking me for a concussion, and a concussion could take me out of a game for a few weeks. The trainer looked into my pupils and then motioned for me to open my mouth. Even more blood ran down my face. Fuck, mouths bled a lot.

“TJ. Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Biden.” It came out jumbled; my tongue felt

massively swollen.

“Good. And where are you?”

“Dallas, playing the Orbs.” It sounded like I had a

lisp, and it hurt like a bitch to talk.

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“Correct. What happened to you before you were

brought back here?”

“Fucker hooked me.”

“Yep,” the trainer said and shone the flashlight into

my mouth. “Stick your tongue out. You’re gonna need stitches I think.”

“In my fucking tongue?” Dizziness hit me again.

Very few things scared me, but needles were one of them. Which was weird given the fact I had tattoos.

“Yeah, try to breathe through your nose.” He pulled

out the gear needed. I gulped. The coppery taste of blood was the last thing on my tongue as the needle pierced into it, eliciting a strong wince.

Skates clattered against the locker room floor as my

team came back. I had no idea what the final score was, and I desperately needed someone to tell me. My tongue had cotton and tape in it after I received six stitches to it. They were the dissolvable kind, and the cotton could come out later tonight. I looked like an idiot, but it wouldn’t matter as long as we won. Pain was worth a win.

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Exiting the trainer’s office, I looked at my team.

Snickers filled the facility as my team looked back at me. Some guys were trying to hold in their chuckles, but all hell broke loose once Zeke stared at me open-mouthed. He opened and closed his jaw, clearly trying to find words. I glared at him. Our trainer told me no talking until tomorrow.

“Fuck! You look so fucking stupid!” Zeke doubled

over, still in half his gear. “At least we’ll all get some peace and quiet now.”

I flipped him off and walked to my own locker,