Page 14 of Puck Me Back to Life

My gloves hit the ice.

His eyes widen.

Then my fist connects.

The crowd erupts.

The guy swings back.

Misses.

I hit him again.

And again.

The years of fighting on the ice take over.

Balance.

Leverage.

Timing.

Everything narrows into movement.

The world becomes noise and adrenaline.

The guy lands one decent punch.

I barely feel it.

Another punch connects.

Then another.

The crowd is losing its mind. Players are shouting. Refs are moving in.

I don't care.

The winger's head snaps back. A tooth skitters across the ice.

Only then do the officials finally manage to drag me away. My chest heaves. Adrenaline floods my bloodstream. The guy is still yelling something I can't hear over the blood pounding in my ears.

The refs shove me toward the penalty box. As I'm being escorted away, I look across the ice. Hayes is standing again. The trainers are checking on him.

He's fine from what I can see.

Thank God.

Then his eyes meet mine. For a second, the entire arena seems to disappear. The surprise on his face is unmistakable.

Like nobody has ever fought for him before.

The realization causes a thrill to thrum through my body.

And suddenly, I'm a lot less sorry about the penalty.

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