Who Wouldn't Want To Be Me

“Fuck,” I choked out the word after Max had slammed me into the boards once again.
This game was harder than even I’d anticipated; the Flyers played a man-to-man system rather than a zone or split system, so Max was on me at all times. His snide comments and rude gestures I could handle, but the hits were starting to wear down on me. I had only got one shot on net, and we were down by a goal. Something had to give.

“Why don’t you piss off, Talbot; if I don’t have the fucking puck you don’t have to hit me,” I snarled as I was again shoved into the boards and against the glass.

“Oh, gonna go cry to your mommy?” he asked in a baby voice, making Voracek and Read laugh at me. I spat onto the ice, wishing I could just jump him and pound my fist into his face a few times, but that wasn’t going to help us win the game.

“Why would I? Unless I wanted to tell her about the nightmares your ugly face are gonna give me for the next few nights,” I chirped back. It wasn’t really my thing to do, but some people just push all the wrong buttons. As much as I didn’t like the guy I felt rude the moment the comment came out of my mouth, but didn’t let on to them that I was already feeling like I should apologize for what I’d said.

“Ooh, he’s got ya there Max,” Read chuckled as I passed the three of them to the faceoff circle. Geno won it, and Gronk and I cycled the puck around. I’d passed it off to Geno, who slipped it behind him to Engelland, and as it was coming my way I was shoved over, and then felt a sharp pain in my side.

“What the fuck…?” I looked around, not sure what had happened. I moved to get up but found the pain in my side too much. I didn’t know what the hell had happened; surely if I’d pulled something by falling it wouldn’t feel like this.

“Up!” Geno said as he rushed past me, and while I tried again I couldn’t manage to make myself move. I was getting mad now, frustrated with myself.

“Dude what’s… wrong,” Jordan asked, his face turning a pasty white as he looked at me.

“What? Gronk are you all right? I just can’t get up; I must’ve pulled something,” I explained, and as Paul, Brooks and Geno came over they all had similar looks on their faces.

“Don’t move bud; we’ll get somebody to help you,” Brooks assured me, before sending Paul to the bench to get someone over here.

“What’s wrong with the little baby?” Max sneered, and I watched Jordan tense, all but ready to lunge at his former teammate.

“Don’t call him that,” he said, moving slightly to his side. Max saw me and paled, before gulping.

“What’s with all you guys? I just need a hand getting up, I’m sure I’m fine. Probably just a muscle cramping weird from hitting the ground,” I insisted, but every time I struggled Brooks would make me hold still.

“Jesus Murphy it’s just a…” I looked down to see blood pouring from my hip, and my vision swam.

“Holy shit,” my voice got high, settling into my normal range for a moment as my world took a spin to the left. I wasn’t that good at dealing with blood.

“Cam? Cam! Stay with me buddy, stay awake,” then Jordan was kneeling beside me. A few of the other guys came out onto the ice, Matt making a quick break for the locker room, looking like he was going to be sick.

“Oh my God, Cam,” Steve immediately began to fuss, and before the medics could come scooped me up and carried me to our bench. Jordan right on his heels bombarding me with questions in an attempt to keep me conscious.

“What happened?” Steve asked me, and I tried to focus, unsure of what had taken place myself.

“I… I got hit, and hit the ground… and then… then my side hurt,” was all I could recollect. Suddenly Jordan stopped following us, and Steve turned to look, allowing me to see my best friend’s face as well.

“The bastard,” he growled, suddenly scaring me. Gronk could get mad, but this was a whole new level for him.

“What’re you talking about?” Pascal asked, Sid right behind him and both looking confused.

“Talbot was the one closest to Cam and I saw him drop his shoulder to hit him… that fucker’s gonna die,” Jordan turned around and all but ran out to the ice, Pascal and Sid recognizing the murder in his eyes and taking after him.

“His skate must’ve… must’ve got caught on my jersey… and then cut me…” I managed to piece together this information before everything went black.