From the World: Matt Sturniolo Centric shots

#4. In the light, I'm not afraid.

Requested!

TW: temper blowups, bullying, graphic violence; injury in sports, and bleeding.

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The rink echoed with the clatter of sticks and the roaring cheers of the crowd as the intense game neared its climactic end. Matt, usually the forwards, found himself stationed at the defense by the coach's choice. No one else played defense as competently as he was— and at this moment, they really needed a strong defense, the defense players were off and he couldn't bear leaving the crucial position unguarded.

"Matt, can you fill the position?" the coach asked.

Without hesitation, he quickly agreed. "Yes, sure. I'll do it."

"Matt, they played the "college level"  and I'm not gonna lie, it was so aggressive. Are you sure about this?" Chris asked, worry etched in his voice as he skated closer to his brother.

Matt nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "It's the last game. Come on, Chris. We'll hold the line together."

Nate, skating up to join the conversation, chimed in, "Chris, Matt. Just be careful, aight? They're playing rough."

The opponents, a seasoned college team, unleashed their aggression, making it their mission to break through the high schoolers' defense. Matt, thrust into the unexpected role of defender, engaged in an intense duel, intercepting passes and blocking shots with a determination born of necessity.

The rival team's relentless attacks intensified, their tackles growing more aggressive, targeting Matt, the unexpected defenseman, with an unyielding ferocity. Hits came from every angle, each one testing his stability. Chris, who happened to be a defense as well, was bothered about it. He knew they were fucking targeting his brother but not him. He also knew they had zero idea about Matt, so their only way to find out was to attack him until they found his weakness.

This is fucked up. Chris thought as he saw Matt's facial expression.

As the game reached its crescendo, with the score tied, the opposing team's brute force became overwhelming.

"Get out of here, you fucker!"

"MATT!"

The giant player crashed into Matt with crushing force, a loud thud echoed through the rink as Matt's helmet flew off and hit the ice with force, the impact reverberating through his body. The collective gasp from the crowd was drowned by the sudden hush that fell over the ice rink. The opponents halted their plays, their attention drawn to the fallen player on the ice.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My wrist.

Matt lay motionless for a moment, his body taking the full brunt of the crash. Slowly, he stirred, attempting to push himself up. Fuck! Come on, Matt. Just stand! Up! Pain shot through his side, causing him to grimace, and he collapsed back onto the ice. He felt helpless now.

Chris and Nate, witnessing the horror, rushed to Matt. Dropping their sticks without a second thought, they sprinted across the ice, panic etched on their faces. Their shouts pierced through the chaotic roar of the crowd, their only focus on reaching their fallen teammate slash best friend slash brother. The coach motioned for the game to stop as they rushed to his side.

"Shit, Matt. Your head!" said the coach as he ran to Matt. He knelt beside him the moment he saw blood seeping from Matt's head and nose.

From the stands, Nick's heart raced, and so did Justin. His eyes locked on Matt's figure sprawled on the ice, his screams of agony piercing through the chaos. His fists clenched, desperate to rush to his brother, but unable to do anything but watch in distress.