Page 105 of Line Change

“Me too. Regardless, keep your head on a swivel,” Wes says, giving them both a pointed look.

The horn sounds, and we make our way back to the bench and down the hall to our locker room.

It happens in the middle of the second period. Wes and I are on the bench, waiting for our turn on the ice. One second, Elias is racing toward the boards to the left of the Fury’s net where Hunter chipped the puck to him, and the next second, he’s lying on the ice, and the Fury have the puck.

“What the hell?” Wes yells next to me as Elias slowly rolls to his side, clutching his leg.

The ref blows the whistle to stop play when it’s clear Elias is in distress. The rest of guys on the ice race over to him as Craig, our head trainer, rushes onto the ice. He drops to his knees next to Elias and says something to him, his expression concerned. Elias shakes his head.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only a couple of minutes, Elias slowly gets to his feet, Craig and Hunter on each side of him as they help him back to the bench. He isn’t putting any weight on his left leg. Not a good sign. Hunter lets go of him when one of the assistant trainers arrives, and they help Elias down the tunnel and to the dressing room.

“This isn’t good,” Wes says.

“Who was it?” I lean around Wes, directing my question at Hunter.

“Who do you think?” Hunter hisses before grabbing a water bottle and taking a drink.

I nod, rolling my shoulders. Guess I’m about to get into another fight.

It takes most of the rest of the game before Wes and I are on the ice at the same time as Jacobs, as if Coach knew what was coming and was hoping to minimize the effect of someone taking a major penalty. A couple of the other Storm did take runs at Jacobs, but none of them amounted to much, a little bit of pushing and shoving, a few hard checks into the boards.

As the ref is getting set to drop the puck, I yell at Jacobs who just happens to be lined up in front of me. “Pick on someone your own size.”

“He had it coming.”

“Fuck you,” I tell him as we gain possession of the puck.

“Tell your wife to stop sticking her nose into things she doesn’t understand, because next time, it’ll be you,” he yells as he skates away. “It was either him or your captain.” He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug.

I see red, skating after him and shoving him into the boards. He recovers and turns around swinging. I grab his jersey and get in a few good punches while he’s still trying to get his gloves off. He gets a hold of my jersey, and I’m ducking and dodging his fists. Throwing a few of my own. We tussle for a little bit longer before we topple to the ice, and one of the linesmen jumps in, pulling us apart.

“That’s what happens when you fuck around,” I yell at him as the linesman steers me toward the bench.

“Alright, it’s over,” he says as Jacobs is still yelling profanities.

One of the guys opens the half wall, and I go down the tunnel, shaking out my hand. Shit, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.

We both get match penalties for the fight, and I get an extra two minutes for instigating, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Asshole deserved every bit of what he got, and more. I make it to the locker room just as Craig is walking out.

“How is he?” I ask.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, grimacing. “Not good. They’re taking him to Orlando General,” he says, naming the local hospital, and my stomach drops.

Shit.

That’s bad.

“You need me to check that out.” He tips his chin toward my hand.

“Nah, just need some ice.”

He pats me on the arm and then heads back to the ice. I make my way into the locker room, thinking back to what Jacobs said to me. Bloody hell, I wish there was a way to get that on tape and to ask him what he meant.

One way or another, it’s all part of Sutton’s father’s plan to intimidate us, her, into giving him what he wants. We just have to figure out how to prove it.

Chapter forty

Sutton