“Why my sister, huh, asshole? You think you can toy with her? She deserves better than a player like you using her.”
Fury rips through me. We struggle, both of us unable to land another blow. I drag him closer by my grip on his jersey.
“Usingher? You think I’m bad for her? That’s bullshit when your own teammate couldn’t treat her right.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
My head jerks in disbelief. I open my mouth, more than ready to fucking unleash on him for being so blind to what Maya went through, but before I can get another word out the refs are in our faces to break up the fight.
The benches are empty, both our full rosters on the ice fighting. It’s an all-out brawl.
“You’re a liar, Blake,” Donnelly bellows while he’s dragged away from me.
I struggle against the guy holding me back, gritting my teeth. Once they’re sure we’re not going to go for each other’s throats, they corral us.
“You’re done,” the other ref says.
I stiffen, thumbing the huddle of players being pulled apart from their scuffles. “What, are you going to kick all of us to the sin bin? Who’s left to play the game?”
The refs exchange a look.
Donnelly lurches forward. “I didn’t do shit.”
“Shut up, idiot.” I yank him back, growing annoyed all over again. “Look, we started this. Just give us the max penalty.”
The older ref narrows his eyes. “You both deserve a two-game suspension for that display of misconduct.”
I grit my teeth. We can’t afford that.
“Get your asses to the penalty box,” he says.
Relief loosens the knot in my chest. I nod, eyeing Donnelly. He looks me up and down, lip curled.
We’re not done. But it will have to wait.
After a beat, I head for the penalty box, tearing off my helmet to shake out my damp hair. As much as I want to smash his face into the ice for what he said, I can’t risk another fight because there’s no way the referees will be so lenient after this. They’ll look for any excuse to throw us out of the game.
I spend ten straight minutes glaring at Donnelly, arms crossed, knee bouncing.
The clock for second period runs out while Donnelly and I sit out. Coach Kincaid comes over with a grim look once I’m released. He pats my shoulder.
“Good luck, kid.”
“Don’t call me that. I hate it when you do that,” I mutter.
Before I head into the underbelly of the arena, I scan the crowd for Maya. She’s on her feet at the opposite end of the ice, hands pressed to the glass. It’s too difficult to make out her expression from here, but just seeing her is enough to anchor me and calm me down.
Coach Lombard waits for me in the tunnel. He folds his arms across his chest, leveling me with a look that makes me feel two inches tall. I dip my chin before he has to say anything.
“Get it together, Blake.”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s no point explaining why it happened. He gets what it’s like out there from a lifetime playing the game, then coaching it from the sidelines.
Hockey is a fast-paced, high-intensity sport fueled by adrenaline and physicality. Emotions boil over faster than the puck hitting the ice when you have guys on both sides flying around with sharp blades strapped to our feet hunting down a hunk of rubber.
When I get back out there for my shift in the third period, I’m not fucking around anymore. The moment I have the opportunity, I get revenge against Donnelly with a merciless check that pins him to the boards.
