Connor glides past, then stops short. Something rumbles in his throat. “Stop fucking doing that.”
I look up. “What? Stretching?”
Like I don't know exactly what I'm doing.
His eyes narrow, but his pupils are dilated. He skates away, adjusting his cup, and I can’t help but smile.
Got him.
Fifteen minutes later, the game starts. It’s fast and dirty from the face-off. Serpents win the puck and dump it into our zone. I chase it into the corner, sending it along the boards to Knight. He passes to Jenkins, who takes it into the offensive zone. Trembley trips him, but no penalty is called.
Connor chases the puck down and wraps around the net. But their goalie sticks out his leg, leaving no room for the puck to get in the net.
Rua gets possession. I skate backward, pushing him toward the boards, then check him hard enough that he ends up headfirst in our team’s bench area.
The crowd roars. But the play’s not over.
I pass cross ice to our right winger. Connor and Jenkins follow after him. But the Serpents are quick. Knight is on their blue line, while I hang back. The puck is passed from player to player, then to Knight, who takes a slap shot.
The puck goes in.
We skate back to the bench, the second line is up. Rua snorts as he passes by and I shove my shoulder into him.
Jenkins smiles as he hops over the boards onto the bench. “Fuck, Henneman. Since when do you play like that?”
I just shrug.
Coach Harper quirks a brow and shakes his head.
Whatever. It’s hockey—best place to burn off extra energy.
The second period is fast paced. Connor scores. I put Rua on his ass again. Three fights break out. By the third period, it’s a 4-3 game.
Jenkins shoots the puck, but the Serpents’ goalie blocks it and the rebound goes into the corner. Jenkins goes after it, fighting to gain possession against Trembley. The Serpent crosschecks him, so my teammate turns and swings at the defenseman.
The two start fighting, exchanging blow after blow. The crowd goes wild. Those in the front row smack the plexiglass.
Blood is running down Jenkins’ chin. Trembley’s bleeding too. But he’s bigger. Stronger. His next punch has Jenkins on the ground. The refs blow their whistles, one pulling Trembley back.
Both players are sent to the penalty box as the crowd boos.
Score’s still the same with only two minutes left.
Connor crouches in the face-off circle. The ref drops the puck and we get possession. Knight goes to pass cross ice, but Rua intercepts.
I angle toward him, picking up speed. My shoulder connects with his chest and he flies backward, landing on his back. When he doesn’t get up, the refs blow the whistle, stopping the play.
Knight skates over to me. “About time.”
“Huh?”
“Finally using your size.”
Connor only shakes his head, but I catch his smirk. Asshole. Did he forget how he went after Jenkins? His own teammate?
At least I’m focusing on an opponent.
Nieminen keeps us out for the final minute. My legs and lungs burn, but I push through. Trembley takes the puck into our zone and shoots. Novotny stops it with a glove save.
