“Fuck!” I shouted at the same time Coach called a line change. I listened to Coach and skated to the bench as Dylan swapped with me. I grabbed a Powerade bottle from the bin and sat down on the bench, spraying it onto my face to cool off. The icy cold water helped reset my system. Itook a gulp of it. None of those bottles had actual Powerade in them for some reason.
I watched the game from the bench. I clapped my stick against the wall when Emmy was close to making a goal but was blocked. I kept an eye on Elijah, who skated around the ice like a predator. He was so fucking handsome, even with all the gear on.
Maybe it was because I knew exactly how he looked when all that gear wasoff.
I licked my lips. Took another drink of water. Even though I wasn’t in the game right now, that could change in seconds, and I had to keep my head in it, not focused on how badly I wanted to drop Elijah to the ground, rip off his gear, and claim him right fucking here.
Fuck.
My cock throbbed against my thigh.
Eli took a shoulder ram to the back that almost knocked him down, but he kept pushing.
“What the fuck?” I shouted at the referee. “That was clearly a fucking penalty!”
He didn’t even look in my direction. That would have given us a power play. Instead, the whistle was called onusonly moments after.
“Are you fucking kidding,” I said.
Coach shouted for Eli to change. He skated over and moved into the penalty box.
Eli sat next to me, spitting out his mouth guard. “You’re doing great out there,” I said, handing him my bottle. He tipped his head back and squeezed, gulping down the water and wiping his wet lips with the back of his sleeve.
“Thank you. And you are too.”
“We make a great team, huh?”
“We do.” He bumped me with his shoulder. “And later, maybe we?—”
The air horn blasted again. We both whipped our attention to the ice.
Emmy had sunk a goal! He skated in a small circle with his stick raised.
“Fuck yessss,” Eli said.
“Nice, nice.”
But I knew the game wasn’t over yet.
The battle on the ice pushed into the third period. Scoreboard still had one to one. Exhaustion was beginning to creep into my human teammates at this point. Frustration also climbed. Coach Julian’s calls and line changes were yelled out with an increasing edge of desperation.
The Sharks had been playing dirty all night, landing blows that would have been called as penalties by any other referee who hadn’t been paid off. Chris had taken a stick to the face that rocked him even under his helmet, the edge of it hitting him in the cheek and leaving him bloody. It didn’t stop him from playing. A medic placed a large Band-Aid over it (not that it mattered since his shifter genes would have healed it in minutes), and he was back on the ice, taking center.
There were only fifty seconds left on the clock. We could drag this into overtime, but every minute that passed pushed us closer toward making some stupid mistake that would cost us the game. Coach shouted. Another line change. Eli leaped over the wall and onto the ice, gliding behind me.
The puck was in the Sharks’ possession. They drove it forward.
Snap! A stick slammed against mine. I spun in a tight, controlled circle, weaving backward. That was when Chris,bloody face and all, pushed forward with an explosive energy and snatched the puck.
The roar of the crowd was its own physical force, pushing down on us like gravity. We flipped around. Eli stayed behind me, but I kept him in my periphery.
I noticed he sped up. He was pinching, joining the offensive. I slowed down a bit so that we were side by side, needing to protect him as badly as I needed to protect the puck.
Protect. Protect. Mine.
All mine.
He was lined up with the goal. Chris saw it too. This was it. Chris slapped the puck back. It went sliding across the ice with the speed of a comet. The Sharks gave chase, but the pass was perfectly executed, giving Eli all the power.
