Chapter Twenty-Eight
Team Wolf
GABE
The Bobcats Arenawas packed to the brim. Fans filled every seat, most of them wearing Bobcat jerseys and caps. It was a beautiful sea of black and blue and white. Music blasted as the announcers called for the puck drop.
Aside from the increased security, there was something else I noticed that was different about tonight.
There was a large scattering of rainbows throughout the crowd, whether they wore old Pride merch from last year or had rainbow hats or waved tiny rainbow flags. There were even more of them on the ice. The entire team had used Pride tape on their sticks this evening.
A bright and bold signal of solidarity. It made my heart happy. I hoped this kind of display would speak louder than the trolls who wanted to keep diversity out of sports, simply because they were too scared to confront their own frail masculinities. And there were plenty of hateful trolls out there, many of them deciding to take it upon themselves to send hateful and vile emails directly to the team or my management.
It was disgusting behavior, but tonight wasn’t about them.
I looked over my shoulder. Eli was behind me, his hazel eyes catching mine under his helmet. He grinned around his mouth guard. I winked at him.
Our first game as mates. One of our last games against the Sharks.
It was time for us to shine.
Let’s fucking do this.
Emmy was lined up and facing the Shark’s center—which would have been Viktor, but that fucker wasn’t even here. Two of his pack mates were still on the roster tonight, but it appeared like the alpha of the Savannah pack had more important things to do tonight.
No matter. I planned on sending such a decisive victory his way tonight that even he’d feel a stab of shame wherever the hell he was.
The whistle screeched, the puck dropped, and the battle ensued.
Emmy exploded into action. He slapped his stick down, protecting the puck and sending it flying to his right.
Directly toward me.
I took control of the puck, gliding on the ice, seeing a blur of red and gold racing toward me. I slowed down by a hair. Eli read my mind, seeing the danger, his blades slicing across the ice as he blocked the opposing Shark from getting to me. The fucker chirped some stupid shit my way, trying to incite me, get in my head so that I dropped possession of the puck.
Not going to fucking happen.
Emmy had skated forward, into the Sharks’ defensive zone. He was an aggressive player and loved taking shotsearly, applying pressure. He did just that. It was blocked by the goalie. Possession was picked up by a Shark.
I glanced at Eli. He was behind me. I could sense his presence as if he had an invisible hand pressed to my back.
“Distracted by your boyfriend?” one of the Sharks chirped at me. He said “boyfriend” in the way a taunting middle schooler would. I smacked him with my stick on the back of his leg. Another tussle sparked up on the other side of the rink. One of our left wingers, Franklin Mace, was trying to wrestle the puck away from the Sharks.
That’s when I saw one of their defensemen going for Eli. I accelerated forward and hit the guy with my shoulder, sending him slamming into the boards.
The fight for the puck grew more and more intense. More insults and curses were being shouted. The plays were getting dirty, from both sides, although the Sharks seemed to be taking even more liberties with the rule book than usual.
And the ref wasn’t saying shit.
It was toward the end of the first period when the scoreboard finally broke from even, except it went in the wrong direction.
Soren was on goal. He fell to the left to try and block the shot, but the puck inched by him.
The net shook.
The air horns blasted.
The Sharks got their goal.
