I position myself shoulder-to-shoulder with one of their guys, Rockford, and he's huffing after being on the ice for so long.
"If your wife needs someone who won't get out of breath trying to edge her out, give her my number." I say as I keep my eyes focused on the faceoff circle where Emmett is dropping his stick.
"Fuck off Paisley."
"I think you mean Fuck Me Paisley."
He doesn't respond.
"Because that's what your wife was begging for last night in my hotel room." I huff out as the puck drops. I shove my shoulder into his chest to get ahead and catch the pass but he pulls back and I teeter to my left.
Then he slashes me right under the knee and I go down. "Fuck!"
The mother fucker skates off and we don't get a call. I hear Coach Bradford and the entire bench calling for it but I get up and find my target.
Every empty space inside me fills with rage.
I'm angry.
At this fucking guy.
At Crosby's situation.
At Rhys for leaving.
At myself for letting him go.
But unfortunately for Mr. Rockford he's going to feel it.
The puck is in our possession in the neutral zone and I see him moving for a change.
Time for a traffic jam.
I skate right through the fucker. He flies backwards and lands on his ass, his head falling back to the ice. The crowd gasps and groans. I'm not a monster so I stand over him for a moment to make sure he's still moving.
He is.
He rolls and gets up as his bench calls for interference or whatever the fuck that hit could be called.
No whistle comes and the game continues.
I trap the puck at the blue line, pass it down to Felix who is circling in the corner. He shoots it up on a blind pass through the faceoff dot to Bryson who one-times it to the back of the goal.
"Fuck yes!" I yell as I skate towards them.
"Booya!" Bryson screams as he fist pumps.
"Atta boy!" Felix congratulates us and we skate by the bench giving glove bumps to our teammates.
Crosby and I sit as the second defensive line takes the ice for the faceoff.
"So, I know you're not actually good," I say before I squirt water into my mouth. "But, are you good?"
"I'll be fine." Crosby says and his steely tone sends shivers down my overheated body.
"You wanna play something on the plane?" I ask. "I've got travel scrabble with me."
"No."
