However, the opposing team’s forward then gets the puck at the midline and starts skating at full speed. Liam rushes to intercept him and ends up with a tripping call. He gets sent to the penalty box, which puts the other team on a Power Play only six minutes into the game.
I watch Liam sit in the box, watching the action, for two minutes. When he comes back on the ice, it’s only for a minute before the line change sends him back to the bench.
“See?” The guy sits next to us, mutters, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have taken the bait like that. It’s like he forgot the basics.”
“I’m sure he’ll shake it off,” I say, forcing myself to feel a little more confident.
“I hope so,” the guy replies, glancing at his phone. “I like his game when he’s healthy. Plus, I’ve got money riding on him tonight.”
It takes me a second to realize he means gambling apps, not just team loyalty.
Before I can say anything else, chaos erupts on the ice. Helmets fly, fists swing, and half the guys are grabbing each other’s jerseys and trying to land punches.
I reach over to cover Laddie’s eyes, but he ducks my hand, his little neck stretches about as far as it will go, and tries to see what’s happening.
“Why are those guys fighting, Mama?” he asks. Then he tucks the Callaghan jersey of the guy in front of us. “Why are those guys fighting?”
The man chuckles. “Welcome to hockey, kid. Because that’s what hockey players do, and that’s what fans like. Sometimes, they just gotta work out their feelings.”
Laddie looks at me with a mix of confusion and fascination.
I try not to laugh. “It’s part of the game, honey. Sometimes when things get heated, hockey players… well, they let off steam a little differently.”
He nods, still glued to the chaos on the ice, soaking in every second.
Honestly,it feels like most of the night is just one fight after another with a bit of hockey thrown in.
The Reapers keep picking battles and racking up dumb penalties.
Every time the refs rightfully call something against the home team, the crowd erupts in boos, totally ignoring whose fault it is.
By the end of the game, the Reapers have lost three to one, and Laddie is practically sleepwalking beside me. It’s way past his bedtime. I get him onto the train, and he leans into my side, out cold before we even leave the station.
As the train rattles through the city, I pull out my phone and text Liam. I know he’s probably frustrated about the loss, but honestly, he played well after that rough start. I want him to know it, even if tonight didn’t end in a win.
Emma:We came to the game tonight. Sorry, you guys lost, but you played well.
Liam: ...
Liam: ...
Liam: ...
Liam:I’m a little miffed that you didn’t tell me you were coming.
Emma:Sorry. Spur-of-the-moment decision, and I didn’t want to distract you.
Liam:You’re a good distraction. Brought the kiddo?
Emma:I did. It was an experience. I’ll tell you more later.
Liam:I could have gotten you good seats.
Emma:We had good seats. It was fine.
Emma:Does it feel good to be back?
Liam:Yes. I think the refs were on somebody’s payroll, though.
