Luca’s on top of him, pummeling him with his blocker still on, screaming something in Italian that echoes through the arena even over the crowd noise.
The refs blow their whistles frantically. Both teams pour off the benches.
Romeo gets there first and tries to pull Luca off. Gets an elbow to the face for his trouble.
“ROMEO!” I’m on my feet without meaning to, my heart in my throat.
He staggers back with his hand to his face and blood already dripping between his fingers, but he’s already diving back in. Dex and Brody are there now too. Roman skates down from the other end of the ice.
It takes six players to pull Luca off. He’s still screaming, still fighting to get free with a feral intensity I’ve never seen before.
Security comes onto the ice. The refs are conferring. The other player is being helped off by trainers with blood streaming down his face.
So much blood.
“Jesus,” someone behind us breathes.
They’re escorting Luca off the ice. He’s still yelling, still fighting the hold, and I can’t understand the Italian but the rage in it makes my skin crawl.
The arena is chaos. Fans screaming, the jumbotron replaying the fight over and over, the announcers talking over each other trying to explain what just happened.
“What did he say?” Goldie asks. “What did that player say to him?”
“I don’t know.” I’m watching Romeo on the ice with blood dripping onto his white jersey. “But it must have been really bad.”
They’re clearing the ice. Luca’s gone. The refs are still conferring. The coaches are arguing with officials.
Finally the announcement comes: Luca Moretti has been ejected from the game. Five-minute major for fighting. Game misconduct.
Which means they need a goalie.
“Oh no,” Mackie whispers.
I follow her gaze. Almardon is skating toward the net, pulling on his mask with quick, efficient movements.
Going in cold. Just straight into a playoff game that’s going to either push us forward or force a Game 6.
Mackie’s hand finds mine and grips tight. Her palm is sweaty.
“He’ll be okay,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer. Just squeezes tighter.
Play resumes. The other team is fired up now, energized by what happened. They’re pressing hard, throwing everything at the net.
Zach makes the first save. Then the second. Mackie’s grip on my hand tightens with each shot.
“Come on, Zach,” she whispers. “Come on.”
Three minutes later, they score. A deflection Zach had no chance on. The puck just bounced wrong off a defenseman’s skate and slid past him.
Mackie makes a small sound that’s almost a whimper.
“It’s okay. It’s one goal. They’ll get it back.”
But they don’t. The team is rattled, off their game. Romeo’s line tries but nothing’s working. The puck won’t go in.
Five minutes left and they score again. Short-handed, a breakaway that Zach almost stops but not quite.
