“You’ll need to ask me nicely to fuck you, Kristiansen.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.”
“Which is it? You’re giving me mixed signals. Do you want me to fuck you or myself?”
It’s then he hits me in the jaw with a gloved fist. My response is immediate, hitting him anywhere I can manage. There’s a flurry of movement, other team members getting involved and the refs tugging me by my jersey. At that point I wrap my arms around him in a hug.
The refs finally pull us apart, and I raise my hands in the air.
“We were just hugging!”
“Fuck you, Bandnin,” he says as he attempts to skate toward me again. The ref is pulling him back like a naughty toddler.
“Knew you wanted to fuck me!” I yell with a smirk. A few of my teammates are laughing, and the ref tugging on my jersey seems pissed.
“Stop acting like assholes, let’s go,” he says. I let him guide me by my jersey.
We get a double penalty, and we’re in opposite boxes. He tosses a water bottle over the wall, hitting my helmet, and I can’t help but to laugh. The fans in the stands are going crazy, cheering for the violence.
I fucking love this sport so much.
I take my glove off and make a dick jerking motion to Kristiansen, and he starts cursing in a language I don’t know. As the clock counts down and four on four is about to end, I’m prepared to go back on the ice. I’m also prepared for this dipshit to retaliate
As soon as the countdown ends and I’m back on the ice, I avoid the rat nose fuck who, predictably, is skating toward me instead of his bench.
I try to be the bigger person. I also know Coach will shit a whole motherfucking brick if I get another penalty. I skate to our defending goal, and Kristiansen follows. I expect an illegal hit from the back, but that’s not what happens. Connery leaves the goal on a glide, using his padded legs as a place for the fucker to trip and fall right over him.
Absolute mayhem breaks out. Every player on the ice has a jersey in their fist or is tangling with another player. I find myself stepping between Kristiansen, who is lying on the ice with Connery. I grip the back of his jersey and fling him off and go ham.
The whistles are blowing left and right, but it’s nowhere near as loud as the echoing voices of the Canes fans who are absolutely losing their shit.
Things are broken up, and both teams are handed major penalties. Mikael takes Owens’ spot in the sin bin, and it’s two on two on the ice.
The sin bin is full as we all sit on the bench and can’t help but to laugh at the situation.
“New guy seems alright,” Mikael says next to me.
“I told him to take him out. He’s one of us,” Nilsen says next to us. He’s a quiet member of the team but no less lethal. The man can hold a grudge more than any person I know, and his pettiness does us well during games.
“Yeah, he definitely is.”
Nilsen starts the chant, “One of us! One of us!” Which has Owen shaking his head from the goal as he pays attention to the few players on the ice. The ability for a breakaway to happen is high. And we immediately stop chanting when one of the opposite players gets that breakaway, but Connery is ready. Catching the puck in his mit, he saves us from making it an even game.
We all collectively lose our minds in the sin bin and over on our bench.
The penalty is over, but it’s far from the last one during the game. But we walk away with a one–nothing win against the Canes.
* * *
We have a private dining room at this Italian place, and we’re all hyped after tonight’s win. Of course no drinking while it’s on the NHL’s dime. So I find myself slinking off to the main bar and ordering a vodka soda.
Owen shocks me by approaching the bar.
“What do you want?” I ask him.
He bites his lip and sighs. “Amaretto sour,” he says. I try so hard not to say some remark about him liking sweet shit. I hold back and order it for him.
We both sip on our drinks in silence for a moment before I break it.
