Summary:

Cliff was only aiming to push the guy off the puck, maybe disrupt his stride long enough to give Rozanov time to catch up, but Hollander wasn’t expecting the hit, and it caught him at an awkward angle, knocking one of his legs out from under him. Cliff watched as he slid uncontrolled, his momentum carrying him into the boards ahead of them at full speed. His shoulder hit first, but then Cliff heard his helmet hit the boards with a deafening crack. For a moment, the arena was deathly silent, as though the whole crowd was holding its breath. Cliff dropped to a crouch above Hollander’s body, still splayed out on the ice. There was blood streaming out of his nose. He wasn’t moving.