Page 37 of Monstrous Serpent

Knight gets the puck at our blue line. I close the gap, but his release is too fast, and the slap shot beats Shin glove side.

Fuck.

1-0 Titans.

We head to the bench, and the second line hops over. I grab my water bottle, squirt some into my mouth, and watch Jenkins hop over the boards onto the Titans’ bench. He's smiling, saying something to Henneman, and while I can't hear it, I watch his whole face light up.

My grip tightens on the water bottle.

Hunter nudges me. “Focus.”

“I am focused.”

“On the game.”

“That too.”

Our second line buries one off a rebound. I bang my stick on the boards and the bench gets loud. The Titans’ third line answers right back, putting them up by one.

By the time Jenkins and Walsh are up again, Hunter is doing what he does best—shutting everything down. Silent, efficient, finishing every check. But Jenkins keeps coming back harder every time we box him out, getting lower, driving wider, finding space that shouldn't exist. His compete level is ridiculous.

Second period, the pace picks up immediately. Cap wins the face-off and Rua carries it into the Titans' zone. The puck cycles from Rua to Shaw and back to Cap, who rips it past Novotny's blocker.

2-2.

“Wepa, puñeta!” Cap punches a fist in the air, cutting too close to Walsh.

“Cute goal. Reed teach you that one?”

Cap stops, spins, then gets in his face. “What was that?”

“You heard me. Too bad no amount of coaching will help that psycho.” Walsh nods toward Shaw. “Someone needs to put him on a leash.”

Oh, shit.

Cap swings. Walsh answers right back. They go blow for blow until their helmets fall off. The gloves drop to the ice, then they grab one another’s jersey, both continuing to throw punches.

Henneman is skating over.

“Nuh, uh. Two-on-one isn't a fair fight.” I stay with him when he tries to get around me, my stick across his chest. “You want to go, we can go.”

He looks at me, nostrils flaring. Fighting the quiet guy was not on my list of things to do today. Not that I’m complaining. But the refs are already pulling Cap and Walsh apart. And the Titan’s defenseman goes back to their bench, too focused on his husband to give me a second thought.

The tie is short-lived as the Titans score again. Fucking hell. Just once, I want to kick their asses. Like win by a blowout, not by one point.

Jenkins is back out. And so am I. He cuts through the slot, and I step up, timing it, driving my shoulder into his chest and riding him all the way into the boards. My hips pin his, and I hold him there, my cage inches from his.

“Miss me?”

“Get off me, Trembley.”

“Make me.”

He shoves at my chest, but I've got sixty pounds on him. I'm not going anywhere. His legs churn against the ice, trying to push out, but I press harder, flattening him against the boards. I let up when he kicks the puck loose. While I love fucking with him, I’m not about to lose the game over it.

One of his teammates picks up the loose puck, passing it up to the point. Jenkins gets open, receives the puck, then shoots. Shin blocks it, the rebound going to the right. This time, Hunter pins Jenkins. Not sure what he says, but when my best friend lets up, Jenkins cross-checks him in the back.

The whistle blows, and Jenkins is sent to the box.