Apparently, Viktor knew exactly where to counter.
“I’m scared I’m going to catch something.”
Red. The curtain that dropped over my vision was a thick, crimson red. To imply that just having gay sex would get him sick was the kind of bullshit that hit hard. I didn’t want to let his words affect me, but they did. Times had gotten better but were nowhere near perfect.
Clearly.
I pushed him. It was a decision made mostly out of bitter anger and maybe should have been reconsidered, sure.
But the fucker deserved more.
He slid back, his blades kicking up a cloud of icy powder. I heard a whistle underneath the pounding of blood in my skull. I could see the same anger I felt reflected back to me in his beady black eyes, pupils dilated underneath the helmet. He exploded forward, and I braced myself for the hit.
A hit that never came.
Gabe had appeared, practically out of nowhere. Helooped an arm around the guy’s chest and dragged him back, pinning him against the boards. The impact shook the scratched-up plexiglass. “Don’t fucking touch him.”
“I won’t, I won’t. Shit, sorry, sorry.”
I didn’t have any time to process what had just happened. Another one of the Sharks decided to join the fray, jumping on Gabe’s back.
So I jumped on his.
More whistles. More bodies locking together, fists flying at helmets. The crowd cheering. Fans wearing our black and blue jerseys filmed from their seats, phones aimed directly at us. The referees trying to break it up, but the two of them unable to fully control the twelve or so men currently wrestling and fighting on the ice.
They like to fight. Don’t fall for it.
Gabe’s exact words to me yesterday.
So much for that.
The guys were pissed.All of them. The team, the coach, even our general manager—Harrison Glass—had steam rising up out of their ears.
And even though there were five other guys out there on the ice with me, I couldn’t help but feel like tonight’s embarrassing loss fell squarely on my shoulders.
“What the absolute fuck was that out there?” Coach Julian shouted. He had taken off his suit, the white undershirt soaked in sweat. A vein bulged and snaked over his temple. “Seriously? Anyone? A three-to-zero loss, first game—firsthome game—of the season.”
“It was an upsetting loss,” Emmy said. He had atowel wrapped around his neck, and he held on to each end. “I think we can all agree we shouldn’t have fought with them, either, Coach. I think we made a lot of offensive mistakes and also slacked on the defense after that first period.”
“I fully fucking agree. Anyone want to add anything else?”
Harrison put a hand on Coach Julian’s shoulder. He still wore his suit and looked the most composed out of everyone in the room. I’d only spoken to him a couple of times since I’d been traded. He had an intimidating presence that was made even more intense by the crooked scar that ran across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose. “I think everyone needs to control themselves tonight. Emotions are high. I’m not happy, either, but I also recognize this is the first game of the season. There is plenty of time to course correct. We can look over the footage tomorrow and discuss some options.”
Harrison’s icy blue eyes settled on me for a moment before looking around the room. My gut twisted itself into a knot. He likely wanted to keep me benched. I had one shot to prove myself, and I messed it up. I had taken multiple missed shots at the goal, I’d been intercepted more times than typical for me, and, maybe the worst of all, I’d been the instigator to that fight.
Such a stupid fuckup.
It was like a broken record playing in my head, over and over again. Sometimes these kinds of thoughts got stuck in a loop, and it was difficult to break free from them. I took a few deep breaths and leaned back against the cool steel of the locker. Gabe, standing across the room from me, gave me a concerned look.
Was it that obvious that I was a little shaken up?
I focused on making sure my inner thoughts didn’treflect on my outward expression, keeping neutral and focusing on Harrison.
“Next game is against Raleigh,” he said loudly so that his voice echoed through the locker room. “I want you all to leave here tonight envisioning a win. And tomorrow, I want you back here training so that you canfightfor that win. We will make the playoffs. We will come out on top.” There was a heavy pause. His eyes scanned the room, as if searching for something. “I don’t care who we have to cut off at the knees to get there.”
A few of the guys straightened. Shared looks. Nerves?
The controlled exterior cracked as we all saw the ruthless engine that fueled him. There was a reason why the Bobcats were constantly making the playoffs year after year. He worked his team like it was a chemistry equation, each guy a different variable he could tweak or trade. He had a reputation in the league for cutting guys midseason, with very little warning.
