“Right.”
“Should I tell coach you need another minute?” Wolfe says suggestively.
“No,” I say, adjusting before following him back to the locker room.
The third period starts, and Boston plays like a different team. Not only are they physical, but they are all talking shit. I laugh, knowing this is their usual crap. Coach pulls our line out for a quick break, but Ridgeway gets in my face, not letting me sit down.
I hold out my hands. “Can you move?”
“Are you shitting me?” he snarls, putting his helmet right next to mine.
“What’s your problem?” I square up to him.
“Ace said you’re sucking Wolfe’s dick.”
I blink, processing what he’s saying, then it clicks. Ace is Mark’s last name. I knew that mother fucker would talk shit.
What can I even say to him? If I deny it, what will he do? I’ve never thought he was homophobic, just a dick. But I don’t know.
“Why are you letting the fucking Monsters get in your head?” I shove past him and grab a water bottle before saying, “And I can suck anyone’s dick I like.” I take a seat.
He grunts, scowling.
We’re put back in, and everything goes downhill fast. On top of Mark talking trash, something lit a fire in Ktytor, and he’s dominating Seaborn. I don’t know if Ridgeway has an issue with me or what, but he and Forest are completely out of sync.
Wolfe doesn’t even know what’s going on, but Ktytor scores on him.
We’re tied with six minutes to go.
Ktytor gets the puck, and I shove off my player, going to help Seaborn crash. We both slam into him as he fires off a shot. Wolfe shifts in the wrong direction.
Fuck.
He corrects, throwing out a glove, but he’s not going to get there in time.
In a feat of physics, he knocks the puck just hard enough to not allow it in.
Wolfe growls triumphantly, like the truly terrifying beast he is on the ice, while keeping control of the puck. He locks eyes with me and smiles, passing it over. I take the puck, spinning around the Monster’s player, before sending it to Cox.
A flicker of hope ignites in my chest as we all watch Forest take the puck and slap it toward the goal. Mark gets his hand up easily, poised to block, but instead of knocking it away, he doesn’t fully block, deflecting it into the goal.
The light goes off, and we all wait for the last few seconds to count down. I throw a fist in the air, and Wolfe slams into me, pressing his face into the side of mine as he picks me up.
“Everyone is watching,” I whisper, but Wolfe ignores me.
He finally lets me go, setting me on the ice, and we go to shake the Monsters’ hands. They glare and snarl in the line like we were the ones who played dirty.
“Sore fucking losers,” I mutter when I get to Mark at the end of the line, giving him a fake smile.
He rolls his eyes and refuses to shake my hand, bypassing me for Wolfe. If I cared, I could get him in trouble with the league, but I don’t need my sister going to my parents or to give Steph more reason to harass me about Wolfe.
I skate toward the exit and step off the ice, glancing behind me to find Wolfe, but he’s still locked hand in hand with Mark.
The fuck?
Finally, they release each other, and Wolfe comes toward me.
“What was that?” I ask when he’s close enough.
