It’s fight after fight, which isn’t a huge surprise except they keep jumping me. And some of the body checking is legitimate, but it’s the shit where they intentionally grab my jersey or my stick and restrain me that should result in a penalty for holding.
But the referees don’t notice or at least they’re not calling the penalties.
It’s like they look the other way when there’s misconduct on the Predators’ side, but we so much as sneeze in their direction and we’re getting thrown in the penalty box.
It’s any wonder our team is still ahead, but the Predators are closing the gap, and by the end of the second period, we’re tied.
We skate off the ice to the locker room during intermission, and I’m sweating my ass off. My cheek stings, as does my jaw, but I ignore it, pumped up on adrenaline.
Coach goes over a few plays that we made earlier and what we can do to tighten our game. “They’re playing dirty. Don’t let them get into your heads.”
Too late for that.
I don’t even know why they’re riling me up so much, but it’s working. Probably because I’m already tense and frustrated with all the shit going on in my day-to-day life. Between Harper and Dante, I’m drowning in irritation and annoyance.
Tucker is just the final straw, it seems.
“Get back out there. You guys can still clinch this win in the third period. Give it all you’ve got.”
Coach continues yammering on, but I drown it out. I fix the laces on my skates and head back out with the team for our final period.
Ashton scores a goal in the last two minutes, and Tucker comes by, stealing the puck, sending it to his buddy Wells and they score, tying the game up.
It’s too close, and I don’t want their team getting an ounce of victory tonight. It should be ours. In the final seconds of the game, I score, securing our win, and it feels amazing.
I want to celebrate with the team and our friends.
After we shower and clean up, we head to the hotel. There’s alcohol snuck in by one of the seniors, since most of us aren’t old enough to drink.
A half dozen of the guys hang out in Ashton’s and my room, celebrating our win.
Liam hangs out with us for an hour until he gets his booty call and hurries out to meet up with her.
“Has anyone ever met Liam’s special friend?” I want to know if this girl actually exists or if he is harboring some other illicit secret.
Ashton shrugs. “Can’t say that I have. But didn’t he have pictures of her on his phone?”
“No one ever saw what they actually looked like. He wouldn’t show us.” Rowan stretches out on my bed, making himself at home.
“We should sneak out and follow him.” Brooks doesn’t so much as budge from his seat on the sofa. He points at the door. “Who’s with me?”
My legs don’t feel capable of moving. I collapse onto my bed and shove Rowan over. “You’re hogging half my bed. I don’t share with anyone.”
“Not even your wife?” Rowan raises an eyebrow.
I shut my eyes, sigh, and then open them as I reach for my beer. I’m going to need something stronger if we’re talking about Harper.
“Going that well, huh?” Brooks stretches his legs in front of him and then cracks his neck from side to side.
“Everything is fine.” I lie and hope I can go back to my uncanny acting ability that we’re happily in love.
But I don’t feel like putting on a show tonight. I already had my ass kicked on the ice, and while we won, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit defeated.
“What about you?” Rowan turns to Ashton, who is seated on his bed by himself.
“We’re not discussing my love life.” Ashton’s eyes widen as he takes a swig from his beer.
Who the hell is Ashton Rinaldi dating? I haven’t seen any girl climb into his bed since we moved into the new place. Besides, he doesn’t date. He’s more of a one-night stand guy.
