Chapter 4: Number Seven

I wore his jersey.

Luc dropped it off Thursday in a grocery bag. Green, white letters, a big 7 on the back. THIBODEAU across the shoulders.

It came down to my knees.

Kat belted it with one of her scrubs drawstrings and said, "There. Now you look like you did it on purpose."

The Barn was exactly what everyone said. Old, cold, loud, with a low roof that kept the noise in.

The St. Brendan's student section stood the whole game. They didn't know me.

Then the big roommate turned around from the front row and shouted, "BAYHILL'S HERE," and pointed at me with both hands.

Two hundred people turned around.

I thought they'd boo.

They cheered.

A girl beside me painted a green 7 on my cheek with her finger.

Across the ice, the Bayhill bench was a row of red helmets.

Chase saw me in warm-ups.

I watched it happen. He was doing his slow lap, stick across his knees, and his eyes went over the student section and stopped.

He stood there at center ice for a full second.

Then he skated to the boards, hard, and said something to his linemate, and didn't look up again.

It was ugly from the first drop.

Chase played. Every shift he went looking for Luc.

In the second period, with the puck in the far corner, he came up behind Luc and cross-checked him in the back with both hands.

Luc went face-first into the boards right in front of me.

The glass shook.

The whole Barn came to its feet screaming for a penalty.

Luc got up slowly.

He looked at Chase.

Everybody in the building knew what came next. The guy who'd broken Chase Prentiss's nose. The animal from Maine.

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