Page 136 of Rookie Attraction

“You can do better than that!” I roar, my voice cracking with rage. “Come on, you stupid fucker!”

Sticks are thrown aside, gloves and helmets too. I’m more than ready to take on Donaldson. The line between Finn as my defensive partner and my personal one shatters. It’s Finn, and he’s mine and he’s hurt. Hurt because of me. The anger and betrayal I’ve felt since September—feelings I’ve tried to bottle up tight— ignite like a flash fire. Range is yelling, but I can’t make out the words over the shouting from the fans and the white-hot rage that slices through me. I get in the first punch, and I don’t miss my target; it’s damn satisfying to hear Donaldson’s pain, to witness the gush of blood streaming from his nose. A split second later, he hits back, striking my jaw, but I’m too pumped to feel anything. Then we’re pummeling each other and I’m gaining the upper hand. Both teams rush in, which leads to more chaos. The refs try to wedge themselves between us, whistles blaring. I’m gearing up for another punch when one of the refs grabs hold of my arm and pushes Donaldson away.

Donaldson backs off and uses his jersey to wipe his nose. The blood on his uniform is poetic justice. I can taste copper in my mouth and feel warm blood dripping down my chin, but I don’t care. It’s so worth it. The refs manage to calm everyone else down and I watch as the Chicago Bandits skate away, pretending they didn’t hear a thing Donaldson said to me. Fucking cowards.

“Fuck all of you!” I scream at them, my chest heaving.

I have no regrets about going after Donaldson, but my adrenaline’s crashing, and I’m about to hyperventilate from anxiety over Finn.

Makela skates up to me, along with Berg.

“Sel—”

“I’m fine,” I snap. “But I won’t be if Finn isn’t.”

Berg spits on the ice. “I can’t believe Donaldson said that shit to you.”

Makela pats my back and gives me a determined look. “Donaldson’s a piece of shit. Fuck him. Bandits’ defense sucks because you play for us now. Don’t worry, I think Finn will be okay. We will score until Chicago’s goalie collapses and they limp home in shame.”

Berg nods. “Dramatic, but true.”

The rest of my team crowds around me and nods, their faces tight with anger but also solidarity. It steadies me a little. Even St. Clare pats me on the shoulder and asks if I’m okay. Everyone except Brady, who skates on the sideline. Whatever, that fucker can go to hell with Donaldson.

“As soon as I’m out of the bin and my shift is done, I need details,” I whisper to Berg, my voice cracking. “I need an update on Finn.”

Captain stares at me intently and nods.

“Of course. We all want to know.”

Donaldson and I get five-minute majors for fighting. I skate to the sin bin, my face covered in sweat and blood, my hands beat up, my thoughts spiraling. All I can see is Finn with the medical staff, his face pale, etched in pain. My stomach revolts and I try not to puke, leaning forward to calm my breathing. The crowd chants, “Rush Fight to Win!” but it barely registers. All my thoughts are with Finn—how bad is he injured? Why didn’t I react faster to take the hit for him?

Playing resumes, five on five. I should have my eyes locked on the ice, but I keep replaying that nasty scenario. Donaldson’s toxic words rebound in my head, and suddenly I’m hit again, only this time, right in the gut.

I know who threatened me in Chicago, the final straw that pushed me over the edge.

The game isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

When I’m back on the bench, Range motions for me.

“The medical staff think it’s only Finn’s shoulder; we’ll see what the doctors have to say.”

“Why didn’t Donaldson get more than five minutes?” I snap. “He was out of line! He hit Finn deliberately.”

“He’ll explain it otherwise,” Range replies and pats my shoulder. “I know it’s shitty as hell, but the guy’s a seasoned enforcer. He knows how to make an illegal hit look like it’s just part of the game.”

With no more goals—or fights—in the second period, intermission hits and I’m the first one heading down the chute.

“Kirkland!” Berg calls out and I stop walking, letting the rest of the guys walk past me.

Once they’re gone, I stare at my captain.

“What?”

“Is your head in it for the last period?”

“It is,” I say confidently. “I’m not going to let those losers push me around or ruin my focus. Makela’s right, we’re going to crush these assholes.”

“Good.” Berg nods. “That’s all I need to hear.”