All I know is I have enough frustration to get me through this string of games so I can get back and figure out whatever the fuck is going on with my Omega.
The Avalanche player is trying to get out of the corner I’ve put him in as one of his teammates attempts to help him, causing Martel to come to my defense.
“Give it up, you fuck,” he growls at the player at my back.
My thighs are burning as I keep digging, refusing to let up. We’re down by one, and there’s only four minutes left in the third.
We can’t afford to give them any advantages. We need to get more shots on goal, and there’s little time to be fucking around.
My skates are slipping on the slush as the fucker elbows me in the nose.
A whistle is called immediately as I put my gloved hand up to my bleeding face.
“Fuckingklootzak,”I hiss under my breath.
“What does that one mean?” Martel says, skating to our bench as we wait for the double-minor penalty to be called.
“Scrotum,” I say as the medic holds the bridge of my nose.
Martel laughs and rests against the bench. “That’s cute.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he smiles as the penalty is called. The crowd boos, as we have the rest of the game to play with a man down against Colorado.
The line shift changes, focusing heavily on the offense, and I know I likely won’t be called in for the remainder of the period. Our hope is either to score during the power play or force overtime.
I hold the gauze against my nose, willing the bleeding to stop as I watch the rest of the game with bated breath.
The Foxes have the advantage and are gathered on the offensive side, taking shots and keeping control of the puck.
Until they’re not.
One of the Avalanche gets a break away, skating faster than the rest of our team, even as they use their sticks to try and stop him. But he’s too fast. It’s one on one with Connery.
The motherfucker scores albeit a good shot, despite the Foxes’ power play.
I curse, forgetting about the gauze as the blood pours out of my nose. I hiss and hold it back against my face.
“This is fucking bullshit,” Martel grumbles next to me, and I grunt in agreement. “We’re fucking blowing it right now.”
“It’s the fucking goalie.”
“I tried to get Anders out of retirement, and I thought Charlotte was going to stab me in my sleep. So we’re stuck withhim. And honestly, he’s just as good as Owen. What’s your deal with him anyway?”
“We played together our rookie year. What they say in the tabloids has all been true. I don’t want someone with that character on our team.”
“Yeah, because you’re so charming,” he retorts, and I glare at him, which must not be threatening with a bloody nose. “Learn to deal with him. Save all your hate for the games, please.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering how a fellow hater can be so level headed.
He shrugs. “We’re not going to win if you two don’t get along.”
“Whatever,” I groan back as the whistle blows and the Avalanche celebrate their win.
Coach Applegate has his arms crossed, his face stoic, and I know he’s pissed as the team skates off the ice and we head to the visitors’ locker room.
I just want to go to my room and call Sloane. Instead, I sit my ass on this bench as her father chews us all out.
“What the fuck was that? A goal on a double-minor in our favor? We’re the reigning Stanley Cup champions. This is not how we should be playing nearly halfway into the season. We have our game in Edmonton in two days. We fly out tomorrow. I swear to fucking God, if we don’t step it up, there will be some major changes. This is not the same team that won the championship last year. I know we lost Connery and Bandnin as players, but that’s no excuse. Watch tonight’s game over and over, and see where you fucked up. Go to sleep,” he says waving off his hand.
