“Bullshit,” I spit.
“Enough,” the ref barks. “Number fifty-two, penalty for charging. Two minutes in the penalty box.”
The blare of the whistle directly in my ear is jarring. I grimace, skating off when the ref lets Noah pull me away. Coach’s stare bores into the side of my head. I look his way, finding him standing at our bench with his arms crossed and a surly expression. He gives a single jerk of his head in silent approval.
We skate over to Reeves as Theo and Brody help him up.
“You good?” Noah asks.
“Yeah.” Cameron gives me a fist bump. “Why the hell do you look like this is a funeral? Jesus, lighten up. I’m fine. Are we playing hockey, or what?”
My shoulders relax. “We’ve got your back.”
“Thanks. Now get out of my zone. I like to chill back here while you do the work over there.” He gestures to the opposing end of the rink.
Theo snorts. “Next one’s for you.”
“Aww, you shouldn’t have, big guy.” Cameron rests his elbows on the upper bar of the net with a chuckle.
Noah and Brody get back to defensive positions and the rest of us get to where we need to be for another face-off. I exchange glances with Theo and Madden, both of them nodding. We’re all on the same page.
The second the puck hits the ice, it’s all-out war and we dominate the other team in retaliation for fucking with our goalie.
We press the one-player advantage while fuckface fifty-two waits out the clock in the sin bin, scoring a goal to bring the game to 2-0.
The score remains the same through the third period until it ends. Princeton’s players rip off their helmets, skating off our ice with defeat hanging over their heads. Our team follows them to go to our lockers. People lean over the tunnel waving things ready to be autographed.
Noah pauses to sign things and take photos as usual.
Victory is sweet. Even better when we thrashed them the rest of the game, playing with brutal precision to shut down any move they tried to make, out-skating them to keep the puck in our control.
We file into the locker room in high spirits, stripping sweaty pads and jerseys. Someone connects their phone to a bluetooth speaker and plays music while the rest of us grab showers.
“Good game, boys. That was a nice hustle out there,” Coach says when he and Kincaid come in. “See you back here on Sunday for practice. If you eat too much pie, you’re skating suicides until you can match tonight’s speed.”
Some of the guys groan. Coach Kincaid takes over the debriefing.
“Anyone not going home, the rink will be open tomorrow during normal hours, closed on Thursday, then Friday afternoon and Saturday it’s back to the regular hours. Have a good weekend with your families.”
“We know you will,” Noah fires off with a smirk. “Man’s got it made after he scored the coach’s daughter.”
“Alright,” Kincaid says mildly when the guys whistle. “Get out of my locker room, assholes. Come back ready for the next game on the schedule. We’re playing Bexley U.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Coach.” I shoulder my gear bag.
“See you, East.”
On my way out to meet up with Mom and Asher, Noah falls into step beside me. His younger brother waits for him outside the door to the locker rooms.
“Jonah,” Noah says as he catches him around the shoulders before he can dodge him. “What’s up, little dude?”
“Hate it when you call me that,” Jonah grumbles.
They struggle, Jonah fighting off Noah as he goes to mess with his hair.
“How’ve you been? We haven’t seen you up here for a game yet,” I say.
Jonah is four years younger than Noah and attends a boarding school an hour away. Their parents live in California, where both of them spend their summers. The rest of the year, they go to their grandparents’ place near Connecticut’s coast.
