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Chaz passes to me but Fuckface intercepts it. He sweeps it around our goal and back to the other side. The puck passes once, twice, and they shoot for the goal.
Our goalie is on point and throws his whole body in front of a puck. If I ever need a bodyguard, I’ll hire a retired ice hockey goalie. They’re don’t have an ounce of fear, they jump first and think later.
The ref blows the whistle and collects the puck.
It’s in play in our zone, and Chaz clips it to another one of our players. Fuckface gets in his grill and it’s a powerplay, sticks clashing, skates scraping on the ice.
Chaz jumps in and someone—I’m willing to bet who—kicks his skate from underneath him.
Chaz hits the ice with a grunt.
The teams are on each other in no time.
“What the hell is your problem?” Chaz asks, jumping up. He grabs the asshole by the shirt and he’s ready for blood.
“Keep it together,” I say, putting my hand on Chaz’s arm. I want to beat the living shit out of this asshole myself, but a fight will get Chaz sent off for the rest of the game. In the moment, it doesn’t matter, but in the long run, that’s what will break a career.
Chaz lets him go and steps back. He smiles at me with a ‘who the hell is this calm level-headed person talking to me?’ kind of look.
“Do you let him fight all your battles for you?” Fuckface asks with a grin.
Chaz balls his hands into fists and clenches his jaw.
I glare at him. I can think of a few choice words to use, but the ref is next to us and fouls him.
He gets a two minute penalty for the infraction, and it’s our puck.
“Take it home,” I say to Chaz, who gets the puck.
With one player short on the ice, Chaz scores with ease. Their goalie looks scared shitless of us. If he could actively run away from the puck without being booed by everyone on the opposing side, he would.
Maybe he heard what I do to goalies who confront me. I won’t hesitate to break another nose. I just won’t do it here, where it can affect my reputation.
See? Icanchange.
Fuckface is back on the ice. I’m irritated, but it’s just a matter of time before he does something else that will get him sent off.
The puck is in play again after another face-off. I’m on fire inside my equipment. Despite playing on the ice, I’m sweating like pig. But I’m at my peak. I’ve never been this fit, and I’ve never played this well. Despite all the abuse my body has taken over the years.
Amazing what can happen when things start going right in my life and I don’t use hockey as just an escape anymore.
I get the puck and make a beeline for the goal. The goalie looks like he’s going to piss his pants. I look toward the far left corner and feign a shot. He dives, hitting the ice. I still have the puck, and instead of shooting for the mostly-open goal, I skate around it and hook the puck into the corner of the net.
It’s an easy goal and the crowd erupts.
We’re up two-nil when the whistle blows for the first twenty-minute round is up.
“Good play, Giles,” Coach says, clapping me on my back. “Chaz, good control out there.”
Chaz nods with a clenched jaw. I know he’s itching for a fight as badly as I am, but we can jump the guys later. Extra-curricular activities.
We drink water, and the next round is up. I’m benched for the start of it, but I don’t care. I’m fucking tired, my lungs burn when I breathe, and I get to stare at Raina for a while before I turn my attention to the game.
Fuckface is at it again. He’s saying something to Chaz, and even though I can’t hear it, I can see Chaz is getting ready to shove a fist under that grill and rearrange his teeth.
“Keep it together!” I shout, jumping up.
I don’t know if Chaz can hear me, but he backs off.
