Love blooms in my chest, warming me to the core. I might not wear a Nighthawks jersey or don their gear, but I feel like a member of their team right now in the way they’re supporting me.
I turn back to face the ice as the last player passes me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I try to relax. Cole deserves whatever is coming to him, and there’s nothing he can do to me after the fact. I’m not under his thumb anymore, even if, sometimes, my body doesn’t realize that.
After the starting lineup is announced and the players set up for puck drop, my heart jumps into my throat. I’m not worried for Cole at the moment, but for our players. I don’t want them getting hurt because of me.
We win the draw, and Cam doesn’t miss the opportunity to shove at Cole while entering the zone. Cole slaps the back of Cam’s calf with his stick, but the ref doesn’t notice it.
They continue to slap and chirp at each other until Cam changes out with the next line’s forward. Cole skates off to his bench, and I relax for a minute as the teams work their way back through their lines, changing out every forty-five-ish seconds to a minute.
Hockey player’s ice time isn’t set in stone. It’s a fluid part of the game, ebbing and flowing, depending on varying factors, like the puck’s location, the play happening, what’s coming next, and more.
Unlike other sports, where players need ref’s approval or dead game play to sub in, hockey players can switch as they please without stopping the clock and game.
Cam, Brett, and Kos switch out with the previous line. Reed and his new defensive partner swap out as well. Cole still isn’t on the ice, but after the Venom take controlled possession, their players swap out, and Cole skates into the game.
Every single chance our guys get, they check Cole, slash him when the ref isn’t looking, and jab their stick into his sides. They are doing everything possible to piss him off.
Cam picks the Venom player’s pocket and dishes it to Brett, who’s already breaking toward the other end of the ice with no Venom players between him and the goalie. The crowd erupts as Brett catches the puck on his stick and flies past the blue line.
The goalie skates forward, bent down and forward, trying to anticipate Brett’s move. Brett pulls the puck right, dragging the goalie toward it, but at the last second, he tucks it left and backhands it into the net.
“Yes!” I cheer, my excitement getting lost in the swell of applause and celebration.
Brett leads the players toward the bench, bumping gloves with them as the scoreboard adds a point. One to zero, us. The guys hop the bench, the next line and defensive pair switching out before taking the face-off at center ice.
The next ten minutes of play are uneventful, no bickering, goals, or punches. A puck ricochets out of play, and a media time-out is called. Both teams head to the bench, and I decide to use this break to run to the restroom.
Thankfully, using the staff bathroom means no waiting or lines, which lets me return to my standing post before the puck drops in the next play.
Cam takes the draw, winning the face-off and dropping the puck between his legs back across the ice to Alec. Alec fumbleswith the puck, and a Venom player steals it away, heading toward Matt.
Reed and his partner are already in position, skating backward into the zone before the Venom breach it. Number fourteen tries a one-timer, but Reed drops to one knee, taking the shot straight in the thigh.
Oof, that’s going to leave a gnarly bruise.
He’s slow to get up, hobbling back and forth on his legs as he continues to play defense, the Venom still in possession of the puck.
Number fourteen passes the puck to Cole, who dekes Cam out and shoots. The biscuit bounces off Matt’s blocker, back into the slot. The players swarm it, shooting it chaotically at Matt, who blocks the shots, but Cole doesn’t stop. He blows into Matt, slapping him with the blade of his stick as he fights for the puck, and it’s our guys’ final straw.
Matt gloves the puck, stands up, and shoves Cole back as hard as he can. Cole’s arms flail as he struggles to balance himself, but he finally does with the help of Cam, who’s wrapping his arm around Cole’s shoulders, dragging him from the scrum ensuing by the net.
Alec escapes the storm and flies toward Cole, ripping him from Cam’s grasp. In the blink of an eye, Alec and Cole drop their gloves, and the arena absolutely explodes.
So much is happening all at once, but I can’t look away from the main fight. They lock on to one another, their left hands fisting the collars of each other’s jersey.
Cole cocks his arm back and swings for Alec, who dodges it. While his fist falls through the air, Alec takes advantage, popping his left knuckles up into Cole’s jaw a couple of times before he maneuvers out of the way.
They slowly spin in a connected circle like boxers rotating in a ring. Cole’s mouth moves, smirking, and it switches a flip in Alec.
He yanks him closer, colliding his right hand into Cole’s cheek at the same time. Discombobulated, Cole struggles, but Alec doesn’t let up. Over and over and over, he pummels Cole’s face, and even from here, I can see red flowing down his chin from Alec’s assault.
Cocking back his arm once more, he drives it through my ex’s temple as hard as he can. Cole bounces off his fist and flops down to the ice.
Holy shit.
Did Alec just knock him out?
The crowd is uncontrollable, everyone on their feet, cheering. A giggle bursts from my lips as Alec runs off the ice, pumping his arms in the air, encouraging the audience’s craziness, which somehow intensifies even more.
