Shoving past Nochton, I push off my skates to protect our net, but get pulled back by Nochton. I swing on him but miss. I don’t have time to tussle with this douche. I manage to break free and push a few New York players out of the way.
The puck bounces back and forth between players as bodies and sticks slam together in the fight for dominance. I get in the middle of it, passing the puck to Nicklaus and shifting the tide. Then I’m slammed into the boards by two hundred and fifty pounds of man, the pain in my right shoulder making me wince.
Nochton sneers at me but I just shove him off again and skate away to help my team. As I look over my shoulder to find the puck, Nochton’s there again, cross-checking me and igniting my rage.
I let it all out, slamming him into the boards, and within seconds my gloves are off and I’m pummeling the guy.
“Fucking asshole,” I growl. “I should bust your ugly face in.”
Nochton is no slouch in the fighting department, and he gets several hits in while the refs try to pull us apart and the crowd chants my name.
“You should try focusing on helping your team and not playing footsie with me,” I spit. “Got a crush on me, Nochton?”
“Fuck you,” he yells, spitting blood onto the ice as he slams his fist into my jaw again.
“Nah, you’re not my type.”
I land another good punch before the refs pull me off. I skate backward, grinning at the damage I caused, but then I’m slammed into by another New York player hard enough that my feet leave the ice and I land on my back with an “oof.”
“Fucking asshole,” he yells at me, but my ears are ringing.
The pain radiating from my shoulder is enough to bring tears to my eyes, but that doesn’t stop me from getting up andcharging after that player. The game descends into chaos at that point, with numerous fights breaking out across the ice. I’m throwing punches blindly, so pissed off I can’t think straight. My shoulder hurts, my jaw hurts, and there’s blood dripping into my eye, but none of that slows me down.
Nothing does until the game is stopped and everyone is sent off the ice for multiple penalties.
The trainers are on me as soon as I hit the bench, checking the cut above my eye, but I’m still seething. After the refs decide how to punish all of us, New York gets the worst of it for instigating and we end up with a Power Play.
Landham gets the puck, and within minutes, we’re ahead 2-1.
From there the rest of the game is a fucking battle, but we pull it off, winning 4 -2. By the time I make it back to the locker room, I know something is seriously wrong. My shoulder is on fire. I try to ignore it through my shower and while I’m getting dressed, but the pain is intense.
Reluctantly, I head over to the trainers. “I’ve got a problem.”
Hanson turns to me, raising his eyebrow. “What’s going on, Bouche?”
My stomach twists as the words leave my mouth. “It’s my shoulder.”
An hour later, I’ve got my diagnosis and it isn’t good. Torn rotator cuff. Surgery required.
“That’s not happening, Coach. I’ll get through the season.”
He frowns at me. “Bouche. Come on. I can’t let you do that and make it worse.”
Rubbing my forehead, I try to tamp down the building frustration. “This is my last chance for a cup and we both know it. I can rest for a couple of weeks and be ready for the playoffs. Then I’ll have surgery in the summer.”
“And then?”
I have to say it. I have to do this. Wraith’s words from earlier flash through my mind. He’ll be there to help me navigate life without hockey. I’ll figure it out.
“I’ll retire.”
I expect to see relief on Coach’s face, but instead he looks disappointed. “Sorry, Bouche. I know you’re not a hundred percent ready.”
“No, but I guess my body is making the decision for me. Just please, don’t bench me. I can do this.”
“We have to make sure the news doesn’t get out or other teams will target you.”
“Let’s say it’s a concussion from the body slam. I’ll work with the trainers to be game ready in a couple of weeks.”
