And then we scored another on the heels of that, dropping the puck in the net with a sweet shot and stunning everyone. I couldn’t fight the grin on my face. It was fucking on.
With only eight minutes left in the game, one of the Seattle players, Wilson, aka “Willy,” skated near the net.
His body was turned away from me, but I heard his words all the same. “I heard your girl has a thing for hockey players.”
I shifted beneath my pads, seething. I knew he was chirping, trying to get a rise out of me. But he’d crossed a line, and there was no way I could let what he’d just said stand.
“The fuck you just say?” Kovi asked before I could even respond. Kovi was a mouthy motherfucker, but in that moment, I loved him for it.
“First your teammate, now you, huh?” Wilson said, undeterred.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Willy,” I growled, cracking my neck from side to side. He wanted a fight, and if he kept that up, he was going to get one.
Everything in me strained forward, as if urging me toward him, to fight him. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I was going to focus on the game.
“Did you two ever share? I don’t usually go for someone else’s sloppy seconds, but I’d make an exception for her. Give her a hat trick.” And then Willy winked at me over his shoulder.
My vision tunneled on him, pulse pounding in my ears. He had no idea what Bryn had gone through, what I had gone through. And for him to both tarnish Derek’s memory and disparage Bryn… I saw fucking red.
I didn’t even think about the consequences; all I cared about was teaching him a lesson. I tore off my gloves, tossing them aside. The crowd made a sound of surprise, encouragement, I wasn’t sure. Either way, didn’t fucking matter. This fucker was going down. I wouldn’t let anyone talk about Bryn that way.
I removed my helmet, and Willy removed his. He spat onto the ice, grinning like a fucking idiot. Like this was exactly what he’d wanted. Fuck. Maybe it was.
“It’s just a joke, bro,” he said, acting as if he hadn’t just insulted the woman I loved and my late best friend.This asshole.
Kovi was there in an instant, gloves thrown as well. I threw the first punch, getting in a good one, before one of Willy’s teammates jumped in, piling on.
“It’s not funny,bro,” Kovi growled, attempting to punch Willy, while one of the other Seattle guys went after Kovi.
“We don’t talk about women—or anyone—like that,” I ground out. I reared back to punch Willy again, enraged at his words. At his insinuation.
Chaos erupted on the ice. Players from both sides joined the fray. The shrill sound of multiple whistles cut through the air as the refs attempted to wrestle us apart. Willy and I were locked together. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—release his jersey from my grip. Not until he’d apologized.
I didn’t care that Willy had blood running down from his nose. Didn’t fucking care that the refs wanted this to end.
“Let go!” the ref yelled, skating between us, trying to break up the fight like a bouncer at a nightclub. “End this.Now.”
Another ref came to escort me away, and I was forced to release Willy’s jersey. I continued glaring at him as the ref escorted me toward the bench. Willy grinned, face bloodied and nose bent.Serves him right.I spat on the ice in his direction.
Kovi was bleeding, but he seemed more concerned with talking to one of the other refs. I was still trying to talk myself down from committing murder.
Coach’s expression was stern, disappointment radiating off him. But he said nothing—for now. I was positive I would get reamed once the game was over. By him. By management.
Whatever.I blew out a breath.
While we waited for the refs to make a call, a trainer checked me over. The fight had shifted the energy of the game, and I wondered if that was what Willy had been after all along. Or if he really was just a dickhead.
My heart was pounding. The refs seemed to be conferring for a long time, and I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Bryn. I wanted to, but I knew what I’d see there—worry. And I couldn’t play the rest of the game if I was distracted.
The head ref skated to center ice, switching on the microphone on his headset. He made the hand motion forroughing as he announced the penalty. “Seattle number five, five-minute penalty for fighting.” That was good at least. “Additional two-minute penalty for instigating.” There was a lot of booing at that one, and I felt vindicated that the ref had taken our side. Then he said, “LA number thirty. Five-minute penalty.”
Fuck.
I kept my head held high. I would not apologize for the fight because I’d done nothing wrong.
I knew Coach would demand an explanation later, but for now, my sole focus was on winning. I took my position in front of the goal, trying to get my head back in the game. I would not let one fucker and his disgusting comments ruin my focus. I would not let that be the reason we lost the game. If anything, it made me want to win even more. This was personal now.
And the rest of my team seemed to think so too. Some of them had heard what Wilson had said, and they were livid. Fuck winning, we had something to prove. Gabe practically flew across the ice. He acted as if he was going to take a shot, but then he passed to Holden at the last second. The puck slid right into the net, a beauty of a shot.
