The cold air from inside the rink slides across my skin as soon as my skates hit the ice. Everyone else is already skating around, stretching as we warm up for the game, shooting the shit with each other. I skate past August as he replays what happened last night before sending a puck soaring through the air toward our goalie.
It hits the edge of the net, the loud ping of metal sounding through the air before it sends the puck in the opposite direction of the goal. Usually, I would talk some shit to August or whoever is near me, but right now, I have no desire to.
I don’t want to hear about last night, not after the way my balls still ache. And definitely not after the way Isla looked at me this morning. I fucked up, siding with her brother’s bullshit when I should have just came clean. Instead, I chose to cover up my tracks and completely dismissed what happened with Isla before August showed up.
She wasn’t happy with me and I should have taken the time to go talk to her before we had to leave, but I chose to give her space instead. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I skate past Cameron, one of our players on defense, ignoring him as he calls out to me to pass him the puck. I need to make things right with Isla after last night.
I just don’t know how I’m going to make it up to her.
“Dude,” Cam skates over to me, slamming his shoulder against mine as he catches me off guard. He knocks me off balance, but I quickly recover as I glare at him. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
Cam rolls his eyes, stealing the puck from me as he begins to skate backward. “You better get your shit together before the game starts. You know Coach won’t hesitate to bench you.”
My jaw clenches and I keep my eyes trained on him as I skate toward him. He’s right. Even though I’m pissed off and frustrated, I need to focus on what we’re here to do. Instead, I’m going to have to channel my anger and use it to my advantage… and pray I don’t wind up getting myself kicked out of the game for taking it too far.
The shit with Isla is going to have to wait until after the game. I’ll just talk to her afterward and try to sort it all out. I swallow hard over the lump that forms from the thought alone. Maybe August was right…
When it comes down to it, hockey will always come first.
After warm-ups, the ice is cleared off and the announcer calls all of our names as we skate back out into the arena. The crowd is loud, cheering as we line up against the opposing team. We have the advantage, being the home team, but the team we’re playing tonight is ruthless. It’s going to be one hell of a game for the season opener.
As they get set up for the face-off, I take my place along the blue line in the defense spot, my eyes scanning the stands as we wait for the ref to drop the puck. I find my mom first, her smile huge as she waves at me from where she’s sitting with the Whitleys. I return her grin, although I’m not sure she sees it through the cage blocking my face.
My eyes continue down the line, scanning right past August’s mom and dad before landing on her. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that was wondering if she would even show tonight. She wouldn’t miss it for her brother, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to miss it because of me. Her eyes meet mine from across the ice and I don’t miss the way that the pink tint spreads across her cheeks.
She might be pissed off at me still, but even now, I can still see the evident effect that I have on her. The ref drops the puck, and I tear my gaze away from Isla as August wins the face-off and sends the black disc in my direction. It flies past the right wing in front of me and I stop it with my stick as it ends up in my zone.
Pushing off on my skates, I slide across the ice, stickhandling the puck as I glance back and forth at the boards. August is in the center where it’s too congested. Sterling, our right wing, has someone on him already. When I glance over to the left, I notice that Cam is open and pass the puck to him as the other team’s right wing reaches me.
Cam spins the puck around with him, keeping it with him along the blade of his stick. I hang back, watching him as he takes it toward the opposing goal. August skates down with him with Sterling in his zone as they close in on the offensive side. Cam passes the puck to August, but their defensive line is right there and he doesn’t have a clear shot.
August passes it to Sterling, who makes a last-ditch effort, sending the puck flying at the goaltender. He blocks it, deflecting the shot as it slides back across the ice. One of the offensive players on the other team grabs the puck and starts skating in my direction.
I begin skating backward, before turning around and making my way farther into my zone. Glancing over, I notice Leander, one of our other defensemen skating to the other side of the net. Number 15, from the other team, skates directly toward me, getting closer to our net. I attempt to block his shot, but he fakes me out and passes it to another teammate. Slamming my shoulder into him, I check him anyway, because fuck that shit.
He yells some obscenities at me and I spin around as I see the puck miss our net. Number 15 skates after it and I’m hot on his tail. He slides around the back of the net with the puck, attempting to sneak it past Asher, our goaltender, as he makes his way to the front. Asher blocks it and Number fucking 15 slashes his stick at Asher, bringing it down on his arm before knocking his shoulder into him.
“What the fuck!” I yell, looking for the ref as Number 15 skates past me with a smirk. Out of impulse and anger, I slide my stick toward him, hooking it around his skate, effectively tripping him as he stumbles for a moment. “You better fucking call him for slashing!”
The ref blows his whistle, pointing his finger at me instead. My blood boils as I get a goddamn penalty for tripping, even though they completely disregarded Number 15 slashing Asher. I’m fucking pissed, fucking livid as I skate over to the box to sit out for my two-minute penalty.
I watch as the five players on the other team play against our four for their power play and I’m ready to go out there and bash some skulls in. My eyes are glued to Number 15, watching as he skates around, smirking in my direction every time he passes like he won.
Oh hell no… he has no idea what’s coming for him.
It feels like forever, sitting in here for two minutes, but I watch our team as we somehow score a goal. The victorious feeling doesn’t last long as the other team scores on our net and then the power play is over and I’m back on the ice. I skate over to the bench for a shift change, watching the rink for Number 15 to enter again.
When he finally hops the boards and gets back out there, I’m standing up, yelling shift change for one of our defensive players to switch with me. No one bothers to argue or attempts to stop me. They all saw the way he slashed Asher’s arm and if there’s anyone going out there to handle business, it’s me—the enforcer.
I hang back in my zone, waiting for the perfect moment to arise, when Number 15 starts skating back in my direction with the puck. My skates slide across the ice as I meet him right outside of my zone, slamming my body into him with a clean hit. There’s nothing for the ref to call, but he’s fucking pissed.
He narrows his eyes at me through the cage of his helmet before skating back toward me. As he reaches me, I shake my gloves off, tossing them to the ground as I lift my fists up to my face. Number 15 mirrors my actions, his gloves dropping as he gets in my space, and it’s on. He’s the first to throw a punch, but his fist connects with the side of my helmet, no doubt hurting him more than it hurt me.
Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I bend him over and grip the back of his helmet with my hand and rip it off his head. He shoves at my chest as I drop his helmet onto the ice and we break apart for a moment.
“You fucking dick,” he growls, coming back at me as he reaches for my helmet. He doesn’t anticipate the hit coming for him as I drive my fist into the side of his face. He rips my helmet away from my head and delivers a blow right across my jaw, instantly splitting my lip open.
I wrap my arms around his waist, skating him backward into the board before rearing back and slamming my fist into his face again. Blood spurts from his nose and just as I’m about to hit him again, we’re getting ripped apart by the two refs. Running my tongue over my teeth, I taste blood and smile at him.
“Both of you—in the fucking box, now!” the ref shouts at us, pointing his finger toward the penalty box. Laughing, I shake my head and grab my gloves and helmet from the ice before skating over to the box.
I catch my mom and Isla staring at me from their seats and I raise my hand up to them. Fuck it, if they’re both going to be present for my games, I might as well give them all a show. Shrugging to myself, I climb into the box and take my respective seat.
Number 15 fucked up when he slashed at Asher and got away with it.
I don’t regret a single thing from the fight, because that’s what you do for family, for those that mean the world to you.
You go to fucking war for them.
