Page 13 of Line Change

Sutton: More worried about the other guy, but also, we don’t need you taking a five-minute penalty. Or out of the game.

Me: I’ll try.

I’m grinning as I shut my phone off and shove it back into my stall. I can’t help it. Sutton thinks I’d win in a fight. She’s worried about what I might do to the other guy. Definitely the ego boost I didn’t know I needed.

I don’t have long to think about it as it’s time for us to head out onto the ice for warm-ups.

I tune everything out as I skate a few laps around our half of the ice. I stop to stretch out my legs where a few of the other defensemen are gathered.

As I wait for my turn to shoot a few pucks at the net, my gaze wanders around the arena, taking in all the sights and sounds. I love playing here and am so thankful I got traded at the beginning of last season from Buffalo. This city and team have been nothing but welcoming. The arena is always electric. Orlando is such a great place to play.

I hope I have many more years here. I’d love nothing more than for this to be the city where I finish my career.

I catch Wes’s eye across the ice as we skate backward, covering the opposing team’s forwards coming at us with the puck. The guy with the puck tries to make a pass across the ice to his teammate, but I manage to block it and force him into the corner. Hunter and Elias fly into the zone, fighting to gain possession of the puck.

We’re five minutes into the third period, and we’re up by one goal. Our two goals and their one came in the first period. I have this feeling that if they get a goal, we’ll be heading into overtime, and something tells me they believe this too, based on how aggressively they’ve been playing.

Eventually, Hunter breaks free with the puck. As he’s about to cross the blue line into their zone, one of their defenders comes plowing into him, knocking him to the ice. It wasn’t a dirty hit per se, but it was definitely a lot harder than it needed to be, and Hunter is slow to get up.

“Shit,” I mutter as I change direction to chase the forward who now has the puck back in our zone, but not before I clock the guy’s number—sixty—as he hops over the boards. Guess my promise to Sutton not to get into a fight is going out the window. There’s no way I can let a guy get away with a dirty hit, especially on our captain.

“You or me?” Wes asks when we’re back on the bench.

“Me,” I grunt.

I think he’s going to protest, but then he tips his chin up in agreement.

It takes most of the remaining period before I’m on the ice with the asshole, as I’ve deemed him, and once the puck is dropped in their zone, I skate toward him.

“Fucker, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” I yell, seeing red as I remember how slowly Hunter got off the ice.

He grunts. “You’re ’bout my size, wanna go?”

“Let’s do this, asshole.”

Gloves are dropped, and he lunges toward me. I’m quicker and dart out of reach, throwing a fist toward him. He barely gets out of the way, but it’s enough of a distraction that I’m able to grab his sweater and yank him closer. We throw a few punches at each other before one of the linesmen skates over and separates us. We each get five minutes for fighting, and I get an extra two for instigating. Since there’s not a whole lot of time left in the game, I head down the tunnel to the locker room.

“Fuck,” I yell, dropping my helmet onto the bench.

I shouldn’t be surprised that I ended up with seven minutes of penalties. I did pick the fight. But the asshole had it coming. No one touches one of my guys and gets away with it. Most especially not my captain. Almost as bad as touching my goalie. Almost.

A few minutes later, the game ends with a win for us, and the team makes their way into the locker room.

“Good game tonight,” Coach says, launching into his post-game speech, and I force myself to pay attention.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have much to say since we played a pretty clean game. He and the rest of the coaching staff leave, and I take a quick shower and get dressed.

“Someone’s in a rush,” Wes says.

I scoff. He laughs.

“Have a good night. Take care of Sutton.” He winks.

I throw up my hand in a silent goodbye before exiting the locker room.

The drive to my condo is short, and I quietly let myself into the house, unsure whether Sutton will be asleep or not. It’s a little after ten, but I have no idea what time she normally goes to bed. I hope that if she is asleep, I don’t wake her.

Bert and Ernie greet me at the door, weaving through my legs, and I lean down and scratch their heads before toeing off my dress shoes. I’ve never thought of myself as a cat person, yet here I am, already forming a bond with Sutton’s cats. At least that’s what I think it is. I don’t really know. I’ve never had pets.