Theo skates to meet us and pushes me back. I try to ignore the throbbing in my ribcage. They don’t feel broken, but he sure as hell bruised them.
“That was a fucking penalty,” I yell, skating towards the referee.
“Watch it,” the ref warns.
Unfuckingbelievable.
I check the time on the clock. I need to change out, but I want to score. I want to win too badly, so I ignore what my body is telling me and continue to play.
Digging the puck out of a scrum in the corner, Theo wheels towards the slot, but he’s quickly targeted by a Rats defenseman. He fights to keep control of the puck but is shoved off it, and the puck is sent up the ice to the Rats’ left winger.
Theo charges the puck again, but Elijah is able to strip the puck carrier in the neutral zone. He turns back up ice and hits me with a pass near center ice.
In my periphery, I see Theo streaking down the wing, so I fire a backhand pass to him just before he reaches the Rats’ blueline. He catches the defender flat-footed and is in all alone with their goalie.
He shoots and scores, causing the arena to erupt in loud cheers.
Hell yeah, 2-2.
Skating to the bench, Theo and I jump off, followed by Elijah.
The game moves fast, and I watch as the Rats next shot on goal is blocked, and Kai recovers the puck. Two Rats’ blueliners swarm him before he’s able to get past center ice.
Fuck.
“You coming out tonight?” Theo asks, pulling my attention from the game.
“Huh?”
“Are you coming out with the team?”
“Focus,” I bark, returning my gaze to the ice.
Theo is a good player and friend, but he’s young. I try to cut him some slack because I remember what it was like to be new to the league—the parties, the women, the attention. It was easy to get wrapped up in all the fun and lose sight of the job I was hired to do, but his head should be in the game and not on whatever plan he andthe rest of the team has concocted for after. Getting distracted is going to cause us to lose, and we need to win.
“Come on Nuttall, don’t be such an old man.” He laughs. “Elijah got us the hookup at that new rooftop bar he was talking about at practice last week. It’s going to be sick, dude.”
“I’m good.”
I know I sound old as fuck, but I don’t care. Tonight, I want to win, and then I want to go home. A loud roof-top bar, my drunk teammates, and women I barely know begging for me to take them home sounds like my personal nightmare, especially when I can’t have a drink thanks to the shot that was injected into my arm.
“Suit yourself,” he says, standing. He follows Elijah, jumping over the boards as two of our players step off.
Adrenaline surges through my veins as I watch the clock, and my leg moves up and down as I anticipate the upcoming line change.
With nine minutes left in the game, I watch as Ulrich flies off the bench toward Theo. With all of his force, he elbows Theo in the head, causing him to fall to the ice.
“What the fuck?” I yell, moving to re-enter, but one of my teammates stops me, shoving me back down.
Elijah charges Ulrich, his glove making contact with his jaw before Raph can react. The crowd gets louder, egging them on as they meet each other blow for blow. The energy is palpable, and I want in.
Two linesmen skate toward the action, sounding their whistles and breaking up the two players. Everyone disperses, and my teammates help Theo to stand. He has that look in his eyes of a person who hit his head too hard. The look of someone who isn’t registering everything that’s going on. No doubt about it, he has a concussion.
Ulrich watches with a shit-eating grin on his face as Theo skates toward the bench. What a fucking dick.
The referee makes his way to center ice and calls a major for fighting and a minor for elbowing on Ulrich. Elijah gets a major as well.
Our coach attempts to argue the call, but it’s useless.
