CHAPTER 23
Paxon
“Bouche!”
Hen slams into me like it’s been months since we last saw each other.
“You ready to dominate tonight?”
“I’m always ready.”
He claps my shoulder. “Everything okay with Boone?”
I nod. “Yeah, he’s good. Thanks for asking.”
While I get my gear on, I push all thoughts about everything but the game away. We need this win, and I need the distraction. I left Wraith’s house without a lot of fanfare, choosing to send Boone a text saying I would see him when the game was over. I felt like seeing him again would add to my distractions and make it even harder to focus on my game.
I know what Wraith is doing tonight and he promised Boone would be safe, so I’ve just gotta hold on to that.
Landham stands in the center of the locker room, pumping us up with a pep talk about how good we are when we’re focused and play as a team. We’re playing New York tonight, and they won’t be easy to get past. They never are, and they’re the defending champions. I need to keep my head in the game.
Coach comes in next, offering more words of encouragementabout how we’re tough enough to defeat New York. We’ve done it before. We can do it again.
Minutes later, we’re out on the ice.
“You missed practice,” Greene says to me in passing like he’s the fucking coach.
“Yeah.”
“You good? Ready to play?”
“The fuck are you going on about?”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just checking in, man. You never miss practice.”
Blowing out a breath, I nod. “I’m good. Just had a family thing earlier.”
“Cool. Hope it’s all okay.”
“It is. Thanks.”
The lights in the arena change and the music blares, announcing the start of the game. Everything else I’m dealing with can wait a few hours until we’re on the other side of this, ideally as winners.
I get in position on the ice, watching the puck like a hawk. New York wins the face-off, which means I’m in defense mode. One of their players, Nochton, skates towards me, his mouth slanted in a hostile grin like he has some kind of vendetta against me. As far as I know, we don’t have beef, but if he wants some, I can do that.
“How are the knees, old man?” Nochton taunts. “I’m surprised you can still bend over to tie your skates, or did you get help?”
“Fuck off, Nochton.”
He laughs, locking into position in front of me, and I realize he’s distracting me from his center, who has the puck. “That the best you can do?”
“It’s not. Do you want my best? I’ll send you home crying.”
“Please. Like you could hurt my feelings. You’re washed up, man. You couldn’t take out a kid in the minors.”
Oh, he’s talking some shit. That’s cool.
I glance across the ice at Hen just as he slams into one of New York’s defensemen, but that leaves our net pretty open. New York is all over our goalie, Palachuk, and I need to act if I don’t want to watch them score.
