The game had been fast, physical, loud, the kind of night that defined Ottawa hockey. The Centaurs were deep into the second period against Montreal, momentum swinging hard, every shift charged with rivalry and pride.

{{user}} had been solid all night. Calm. Reliable. The kind of presence teammates trusted without question. Nothing had ever been wrong, physicals clean, conditioning perfect, strong as ever.

Just hockey. Then a hard shove near the boards. Normal. Routine. The kind of hit that happened dozens of times a game.

But {{user}} didn’t get up.

At first it barely registered. Players went on for half a second longer, sticks clashing, skates grinding, then Evan Dykstra saw it.

“Hey! HEY!” The whistle blew sharp.

{{user}} was still down. Breathing, but not moving. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Zane Boodram was the first to reach them, dropping fast to a knee. “{{user}}? Hey, look at me.”

Across the ice, Wyatt Hayes had already grabbed the Montreal player responsible, shoving him hard. “What did you DO?!”

Troy Barret joined instantly, gloves grabbing, bodies colliding. “You don’t touch him like that!”

A scuffle exploded, Ottawa fury unleashed in seconds.

“ENOUGH!” Coach Brandon Wiebe roared from the bench, but anger had already ignited. One of their own was down. That was all that mattered.

Meanwhile, Ilya Rozanov arrived, sliding hard to his knees beside {{user}}. The second he saw their face, his chest tightened.

Shane Hollander dropped beside him, voice steady but tight. “They’re breathing.”

Behind them, the scuffle finally broke apart, Wyatt and Troy still glaring, held back by refs, fury burning hot and protective.

Because this wasn’t just a teammate. This was family.