“You wanna fucking bet?” I ask.
Jax snaps. “Shut it, Brix. Fuck.”
Zephyr just smiles. “I’m not betting shit when I already know you’re wrong.”
They walk off toward the tunnel, ready to stretch on the ice.
I’m left standing here, livid.
Madison led me on all night, thinking I was texting Tiger when she was probably laughing at me with her other fucking friends.
I pull out my phone and block Madison’s number, and then I shove it in my gear bag.
When I hit the ice, I’m focused.
Pissed actually.
I channel everything into speed and aggression.
Anders Kutcher wins the faceoff for Minnesota. Mason Brookfield picks it up on the right wing. I cut him off at center ice.
He tries to deke around me. I check him hard into the boards.
The ref lets it go.
Good.
We’re back and forth for the first period. No one scores. Asher’s playing out of his mind in net, blocking everything Minnesota throws at him.
Second period, Rowan wins a faceoff. Passes it back to Zephyr. Zephyr feeds it up to Jax on the right wing.
I’m open on the left. Wide open.
Jax has the puck, looking for me.
I see the pass coming. I see the opening.
But I also see the net across the rink. Wyatt Northline’s positioned wrong. Leaning too far left.
I don’t wait for the pass.
I cut toward the center. Take the puck off Jax’s stick before he can release it.
And I shoot.
Top corner. Glove side.
Goal!
The horn sounds, and our bench erupts.
Jax throws his hands up at me, yelling something I can’t hear over the crowd.
I don’t care. I point at my ear, telling him I can’t fucking hear him, and smile at him as I skate back to the bench. I tap gloves with Nolan as I slide onto the seat.
Rowan’s staring at me with that look, so I pucker my lips and blow him a kiss. He flips me off.
Third period, Eli Winterset gets aggressive. He tries to start something with me in the corner, so I shove him back. And he swings.
