I'malovernota fighter, except on the ice. You fuck with my guy, my goalie especially, and I'm going to level you.
And tonight, we've been given free reign to let our emotions spill into the game.
I hawk a loogie into the penalty box where I sit for another two minutes. A very small part of me feels bad for tripping that guy and sending him dangerously into the boards but tonight I need the pain, I need the impact.
It’s childish but I’m hurting, and I want others to hurt too.
First of all, people are fucking with Crosby and that alone would make my blood boil.
Second of all, when I get home tonight, Rhys won't be there.
It's an emptiness I haven't been able to shake since he walked out two weeks ago. I was sluggish for the first two games on the road. And then a deep seeded anger sprouted and I have been playing angry for the last three games.
I am furious with the entire fucking world tonight.
And Florida's forwards are taking the brunt of it.
My boys kill off the penalty and I slap on my helmet to rejoin them.
I can feel my blades slicing through the layers of ice as I manipulate my edges to gain speed. The jackass star on Florida's team has the puck and I just want to level him.
My body slams him into the boards. With both hands on my stick, I jam it into the inch of space between his shorts and shoulder pads.
"Fuck you Paisley." He grits.
"You’d like that wouldn’t you?" I make a kissy noise as I back off.
Crocs and I were lucky not to get ejected after our fights in the first. The benefit of chirping the other players for eighteen minutes before they finally snapped is their guy got the instigation call and was tossed while I let my toothless grin fly.
The horn sounds to end the second period and we hustle down the tunnel to the locker room.
Coach is more lenient on his no phones during the game policy tonight and I see Crosby checking for updates. I check my phone too, having reached out to Lake Belmont for help. I pull up my thread with Remember You Started This and stare at the text I drafted but never sent. I figured he’d maybe have a connection somewhere in the industry to help us with this shit storm.
But he doesn't owe me anything.
Weended it, clean cut.
In fact it was his idea.
So I can't be the pathetic one that comes crawling back for help when I need some publicity advice.
And the idea of reaching out to flirt opens up a pit in my stomach. I want it, I might even need it, but the risk of being rejected again keeps I'm treading in too deep of water, struggling to stay on the surface.
"Paisley!" Coach yells and instinctively my spine straightens.
"Sup coach?" I go for nonchalant.
"You've got one more penalty to use before I have to bench you."
"Fair."
Coach Mike Bradford leans in, he's only a few years older than we are having started coaching when he was in his late twenties. "If it were just upto me I'd let you go fucking nuts. But the team is hearing from the league that they'll issue suspensions and fines if this continues."
"Fair." I give him a grin.
***
Florida ices the puck halfway through the third period. It gets pulled all the way back to their end for a faceoff and we get fresh legs.
