The ref blew his whistle, stopping play for a faceoff in the defensive zone. Quincy stepped into the circle. The puck dropped, and immediately, a scramble of sticks ensued. The crack of the wood meeting the puck echoed like fireworks.
Quincy won the draw and pushed the puck up ice, passing to Asher just before the blue line. Asher tried to skate into the offensive zone, but their defensemencut him off.
A tussle broke out, and Asher tripped up and fell. The defenseman chipped the puck to a winger, who skated it back into the defensive zone.
Fuck!
My heart pounded in my chest. Coach was pacing back and forth, screaming at the guys to pick up the pace. Our forwards needed better coverage out there.
They need me.
No, I couldn’t think that way. The Warriors could do it. I knew they could.
I could hear Rafael swearing and yelling at the refs. Dude sounded like a truck driver at a game.
Our defense just couldn’t keep up. Hutch did his best, but Franklin was dragging. He looked like Frankenstein out there.
I got up and stopped Coach. “You gotta get Franklin out of there. They’re too quick. We need someone who can defend and skate at the same time.”
Coach looked me dead in the eyes. “Moretti, let me do the coaching, alright?”
Ugh, he’s right. I need to shut my trap.
It wasn’t the moment for backseat driving. “Sorry,” I muttered.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and told me to sit down and cheer for the team. I wanted to, but I couldn’t stay still. Soon, I was pacing just like Coach, adrenaline surging through me. All I wanted was to jump out on the ice and play, but I couldn’t.
McKenzie grabbed the puck and raced down the ice into the offensive zone. Quincy and Asher flanked his sides, forming a quick V shape. As the defense closed in, Quincy and Asher doubled up on McKenzie. He skated hard toward the crease,dribbling the puck faster and faster.
Then, he made a quick pass to Asher, who wristed a shot into the lower left corner of the net.
“Yes!” The entire arena erupted—the red and blue lights flashing on the net. Asher scored the first goal of the night.
“You’ve got this, Red!”
The jubilation was short-lived. The Cobras turned up the heat, their passing game getting better as the minutes ticked by. By the second period, we were up by one, and by the third, the score was 2 to 2. My voice was completely gone. At one point, I was standing on top of the bench screaming at the refs for a call I didn’t agree with. I got down once I realized my insanity was being caught on camera, the image of a crazed Theo snapping me out of my lunacy and forcing me to sit the fuck down.
Calm down, dude, you’re gonna hurt yourself even more.
Asher had the puck and was closing in on the Cobras’ net, but their defense pushed him back, cornering him into the boards. The scuffle ensued, and I witnessed the moment Asher took a punch to the face.
“Ref!” I screamed, the veins surely visible on my forehead.
As the refs broke up the fight, the Cobras’ right winger closed the distance between him and Asher. He said something, and all of a sudden, Asher was enraged. He got right in the guy’s face, screaming at him, and the dude opened up his arms, waiting for the punch.
The refs scrambled to intervene, and, finally, Quincy and McKenzie pulled Asher back and dragged him away. I pounded on the glass, screaming Asher’s name, trying to get his attention.
Asher wasn’t like that. He didn’t fight after the whistlesscreamed, which meant something happened out there that made him go nuclear.
If that fucker said something to Asher, he’s done.
The Cobras’ right winger received a major penalty for punching Asher.
Good.
Coach called a timeout and brought the Warriors in for a huddle.
Asher
