It's No Bull on the Ice

The crowd is screaming, skates scrape, sticks clatter, bodies hit the boards. The opposing team relies on brawn alone, big players who hit hard and don’t fall easy, and who are rarely satisfied with a game unless there’s at least one good fight. The back of Nick’s throat tastes like metal as he sprints across the ice toward his teammates, ready to intercept and make a play that might just earn them a lead.

He knows there’s one guy on his ass, but Nick’s fast despite being evenly matched in weight and size, something he’s proud he trained for, and something this team likes to take advantage of. Nick veers right, lining himself up between Corey and Max as they approach the other side’s beast of a goalie. Everything slows down, three guys doing the same mental math before Corey shoots Nick the puck and he shoots it straight to Max for the assist.

The buzzer sounds. The stadium erupts with cheers.

Someone slams into Nick.

Everything goes silent.

He lands heavily, sliding over to the now-empty net.

His ears ring.

Nick sits up and freezes. He’s alone on the ice, alone in the entire stadium.

His ears ring.

He screws his eyes shut and shakes out his head, bringing his hand up only to realize his helmet is missing. In fact, his entire uniform is missing. He’s just wearing a black long sleeve shirt and track pants.

A guttural bellow wrenches Nick from his disorientation, startling him into scrambling back, kicking against the ice with his skates and bare hands as he lays eyes on an enormous, black bull.

Adorned with large, grey horns, it rears its head in frustration, snorting and bellowing as it staggers and slips over the rink. Despite its struggles, the bull is still moving, its hooves digging into the ice, chipping it when it stomps, hauling itself closer, its breath coming out in heavy rumbling snorts.

Nick tries to breathe, gaze twitching to the benches where he might be able to hop over the barrier. He and the bull are equally far away, but would it chase him? Would it reach him faster than he can skate?

He gasps as the metal frame of the net touches his back, and the bull roars from across the rink. Nick grasps the net, thinking to use it as some kind of shield, or a distraction— but the bull charges as if there’s no more ice at all.

Nick screams.

-

His back is flat against the ice, the cacophony of the stadium hitting him with blunt force. Shadows dance at the edge of his vision and the lights above the rink cut right into him. He blinks hard, gasping, grappling— something is on his neck, he can’t move—

“Nick! Nick, focus buddy!” Warm hands grab his face, and he feels grounded, if only for a few seconds. His captain’s face comes into focus, a man whose Robin-egg-blue eyes named him. Nick’s body startles again and he grips Robin’s arm.

“The bull,” Nick pleads. “The bull!”

“You took a bad hit.” Nick watches the words come out of Robin’s mouth slower than they reach his ears. His face goes in and out of focus. “They put a cervical collar on you.”

Nick groans, looking away, looking for the bull, but holds fast onto Robin and lets out a nervous sound when he feels like he’s going to fall.

“Where’s—“ Nick bites out, “Where’s the—?”

“You’re still on the ice, they’re getting a stretcher.”

Nick’s head swims, and a horned shadow enters his vision behind Robin, which further distorts as he starts to cry. He whimpers when pain shoots through his abdomen every time his breath hitches.

“Where does it hurt? Can you tell me where it hurts?” This is a different voice, he can’t see where from— stern, a woman, somewhere on his left ? he tries to turn his head toward it but he tenses again, slamming his eyes shut as he fights the dizziness that blackens the edges of his vision.

“Buh— bull,” Nick whimpers.

“Belly? Pain in your belly?” the voice confirms.

He makes a weak, uncertain sound, looking back at Robin.

“You’re gonna be alright,” Robin says, the words reaching him as if through water. “Try to breathe.”

Nick breathes, once, twice, deep slow breaths, even though his stomach and head throb with each one. But on the fifth breath, a hand comes down high on his abdomen—

The bull gores him and everything goes black.

~~~

“You’re gonna be training with the rest of the team again next week.”

The words leave coach Don’s lips as Nick is lowering himself into a tub of ice. The smile he forces looks more like a grimace and he grunts in acknowledgment, focusing on his breathing as he settles with the water up to his chest. In many ways, an occasional ice bath is something Nick looks forward to after a workout, but he usually doesn’t have to make conversation while he’s doing it.

“You’ve been doing real good the last few weeks, Trickshot,” Don continues.

“I wouldn’t want to come back prematurely.” Nick clears his throat, pressing his icy knuckles to his lips to stifle a yawn.

He’d bailed on his last set today, unable to keep count on his reps, and spent thirty minutes walking on the treadmill at an incline instead, wearing his noise-cancelling headphones, to get away from the constant metallic scrapes and clangs in the weight room. The walk had helped the irritable restlessness he’d been carrying since he woke up at three this morning and couldn’t fall back to sleep, but it had also made him hot and hyper-aware of his heartbeat, which lead him to the ice bath.

“You’re performing better than our initial assessments,” Don replies with a shrug. “You wanna be back on the ice as a Christmas treat, don’t you kid? We need you out there.”

“Of course. But the guys have been holding their own,” Nick says, pausing to take a deep breath, which makes him yawn again, “If I return after New Years, the PT would only have to adjust the recovery protocol by a week.”

Don shakes his head, pointing at him with a game-show smile. “Last game before Christmas, kid. Don’t sweat it, I know you’ve got it in you.”

He gives Nick an encouraging nod, sticking his hands in his pockets, and taking full advantage of Nick’s need to focus on breathing while he’s in the ice tub to make an exit and avoid any further conversation on the matter.

“Get some sleep tonight, kid. You look tired!” he calls, halfway gone already.

“I’ll do my best,” Nick replies and winces when the heavy doors crash shut behind Don, reverberating through the room and his skull.

As the minutes crawl by, the icy water starts making Nick’s body feel sharply tingly. At the eight-minute mark, he gets out and makes his way to the locker room to shower. With his hand poised just before the shelf, Nick stares blankly at the inside of his locker after putting away his headphones and bag. His heart beats palpably as he tries to remember what he’s standing there for, shakes out his head, stifles another yawn, and hastily grabs his towel and toiletries.

Warm water soaks over him, and Nick leans his forehead against the wall, a throbbing pressure building in his face. Assuming he’d transitioned too quickly between temperatures, he closes his eyes and blindly reaches for the faucet to cool the water down. Pins of light dance in his vision and he groans, taking in a few deep breaths.

When Nick opens his eyes, he yelps and slams himself back against the adjacent wall. Blood pools at his feet, mixing with the water as it goes down the drain, but it isn’t coming from him. A deep bellowing moan reverberates through the locker room, making his heart pound in his ears. The blood is leaking through from outside the stall, and its source is large and near enough to cast a shadow.

With a shaking hand, Nick steps out of the shower, reaching for the lock on the door. It opens with a slow, protesting squeak. A whimper leaves Nick’s throat at the sight of the bull, collapsed on the floor and bleeding from its head and side. It utters a low guttural moan, jerking its body and taking heavy, shuddering breaths, adding to the growing pool of blood beside it.

“I need help!” Nick whispers, dragging in too-quick gasps of air, gripping the edge of the stall door as he’s hit with a rush of vertigo. He sucks in a deeper breath and holds it, taking a hesitant step toward the bull, and then another.

The bull whines, its body tensing as it gasps, the whites of its infinitely black eyes visible as it stares back at Nick with desperate fear.

Nick takes a ragged breath— “Help!”

The room turns upside-down.

His heartbeat is a jackhammer in his ears. Nick screams, clutching at his head, every glimpse of light a lash against his skull. He shuts his eyes tightly, a sob tearing from his throat, his whole body throbbing, hot and itchy.

“Go get a medic!”

Max’s voice cuts into Nick and makes him startle— too close and too loud. When had anyone come in? Where is the bull? Max takes hold of him from behind, orienting Nick so violently he’s afraid he’ll be sick. He’s soaked and shaking, still wearing the shorts he’d worn in the ice tub, kneeling hunched over the benches just in front of the lockers.

“Where’s— the bu— hurt?— ” Nick groans, keeping his eyes screwed shut and his hands pressed against his ears, even the smallest of sounds making the hammering in his head worse. He can’t help the sobs that wrack his body every time the pain jolts through him.

“Try to breathe, help is coming,” Max says, gathering Nick against him, placing his own hand over Nick’s ear when he clutches Max’s arm for purchase. He’s right back where he was when he first saw the bull; just as disoriented, just as scared, with a deep dread in his belly, wrapped in an all-encompassing pain.

“Not again—” Nick weeps. “Bloody— it’s hurt, it hurts— I saw it!”

“You’re not bleeding, you’re just wet,” Max says calmly. “Take a deep breath.”

Nick manages a few deep breaths, though his head hammers on.

“Don wants…” Nick whispers weakly. “… me to— I can’t play!— get back on the ice… I’m not okay, I’m not okay...” his words dissolve into pained whimpers. Max holds him unflinchingly, bringing his free hand to the back of Nick’s neck, mirroring the calm breathing he wants his friend to get back to.

“We’re gonna figure this out, Trickshot,” Max replies quietly, “You’re gonna be alright.”

The locker room doors screech open and Nick tenses, his body hot and shaking.

Footsteps approach in a rush and come to an abrupt halt.

“What happened?” Robin asks, resuming his approach.

“Where’s medical?” Max says.

“Liam went to get them, he ran into me first.”

A collection of concerned voices can be heard approaching the locker room and Max adjusts his hand over Nick’s ear, who quickly does the same with the other, body tensing to brace himself from the incoming noise.

“Cap…” Max says, with an edge to his tone. “He said coach wants him back on the ice.”

Robin doesn’t say anything.

“Something’s really wrong here,” Max adds. “He’s not ready.”

Robin clears his throat.

“I’ll call Mackenzie.”

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— Rooney