Coleson’s grin turns mean. “Relax, Mercer. I’m just having fun.”
Kai’s voice drops colder. “We’re here to win.”
Coleson scoffs and skates away, still chirping.
I catch Asher’s gaze from the net. Calm. Unimpressed.
Goalie energy.
The first period ends 1–0, but it feels like it’s been fifty minutes, the tension thick enough to chew. We head into the locker room, sweat-soaked and buzzing. Coach starts talking adjustments, but Coleson keeps talking over him—laughing about the scrum like it’s the highlight reel.
Coach’s eyes narrow.
Kai stands up before Coach even finishes. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to.
“Coleson,” Kai says, calm and flat.
The room goes quiet by accident.
Coleson turns, grinning like he wants the attention. “Yeah, Captain?”
Kai’s expression doesn’t change. “Shut up.”
A few guys snort. Weston looks like he’s trying not to smile.
Coleson’s grin falters for half a second. “What?”
Kai steps closer, not aggressive, just steady. “You’re running your mouth like we’re up by five. You’re taking dumb penalties. You’re trying to turn this into a show.”
Coleson opens his mouth.
Kai cuts him off. “We don’t need you to be a show. We need you to do your job.”
The words land hard because they’re simple.
Kai’s stare stays locked on Coleson like a warning backed by teeth.
Coleson laughs, but it’s forced. “Whatever, man.”
Kai holds his gaze. “Not whatever. Fix it.”
Then Kai sits back down like he didn’t just end a man’s ego with two sentences.
Coach continues like nothing happened, but the room feels different now—sharper, more focused. Even Coleson goes quiet, chewing on his mouthguard like he’s trying to swallow his pride.
Second period, the other team comes out swinging.
They tie it five minutes in on a rebound goal that makes Asher slam his stick against the post in frustration.
The crowd groans.
We respond with pressure.
Kai’s line cycles deep, wearing their defense down. The puck bounces out to the blue line, and one of our senior defenseman steps into it, ripping a slap shot through traffic that gets tipped on the way in.
The horn blares again.
2–1.
