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Blake couldn’t miss another game. Even if I had to sneak her in my luggage, she had to be there with me. I couldn’t concentrate properly otherwise.
Coach's voice thundered in the locker room, his words dripping with intensity. "Listen up, boys. We're up against Minnesota today, and you know they play rough. But guess what? We're gonna be rougher. We're gonna hit 'em harder, skate faster, and shoot like there's no fucking tomorrow!"
The locker room filled with grunts of agreement and the sound of sticks pounding the floor.
He continued, his gaze unwavering. "I don't wanna see anyone flinching out there. This is our game, and we're gonna play it like it's our last stand. We're not here to back down; we're here to stand our ground and show 'em what we're made of."
The team responded with a chorus of fierce nods and determined expressions, our competitive instincts kicking into high gear. Coach pounded the whiteboard for emphasis. "When you hit that ice, remember, you're not just players. You're warriors. You fight for every inch of this territory. This game is ours, and we're gonna claim it, no matter what it takes!"
We roared, Walker leading us in a chant of “Cobras” that made me scratch my eyeballs out because Soto was right across from me, sneering at me. And I missed Dallas so fucking much.
The team dispersed, ten more minutes before we got on the ice, and I turned to Walker, needing to get my head on straight.
"Walker, it’s time toshake it off.”
Mr. Prince Charming shook his head stubbornly, his expression unwavering. "Not happening. That’s not even a real thing. I’m not falling for it this time."
I raised an eyebrow, and solemnly threatened, "I'll call Lincoln and have you kicked out of the circle of trust."
Walker's eyes widened, giving me his best puppy-dog eyes. "What’s the “circle of trust”? Am I in it right now?” He squinted at me. “Wait, is that fromMeet the Parents?”
“Get your ass up and dance me with me, Disney,” I snapped, flicking my hips around as I got myself ready.
He groaned, but a second later he was up, goalie pads and all. “Start the music,” he sighed.
I swiped through my options before clicking on "Bejeweled,” beginning the banger with a cheeky shimmy of my shoulders. Then, I let my hips sway side to side, my arms following suit, flailing in the air as if I were mimicking an inflatable tube man outside a car dealership.
The other guys on the team watched us with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Some even pulled out their phones to record our performance. Soto couldn't hide his irritation and let out a snarl, muttering, "Fucking idiots."
Which I ignored, of course.
I busted out a series of ridiculous spins, my limbs moving with wild abandon. Walker added a bit of footwork to the mix, his skates gliding across the floor in a ridiculous display of fancy footwork.
At one point, I grabbed Walker's hand, and we performed an exaggerated cha-cha, complete with synchronized twirls and dips.
Tay-Tay stopped singing and I stared at Walker with a big grin. “There is no circle of trust,” I told him, and he groaned as the whole team burst into laughter.
We headed towards the hallway that led to the ice and I slapped him on the ass as I passed him by. “But if we had one, you’d be in it, Walker!” I yelled to him.
He flipped me off, as one does in the presence of greatness, and we got ready to kick ass.
* * *
The atmosphere in the arena was insane as we skated onto the ice. Coach hadn’t been exaggerating when he talked about how aggressive and rough Minnesota played. From the moment the puck dropped, it was clear they were willing to do whatever it took to win.
I had my work cut out for me helping protect Walker in the net. Minnesota’s forwards were relentless, constantly testing our defense with their speed and physicality.
Early in the first period, I was in a race to retrieve the puck in the corner. Just as I was about to gain possession, Soto came barreling in from behind and tripped me up. It was a deliberate move, and I couldn't help but shoot him a “what the fuck” look as I picked myself up off the ice.
"Watch your step, Ari," he sneered, a taunting grin on his face, like it was perfectly normal for your own fucking teammate to trip you up.
I shook my head and skated away, refusing to engage in his mind games. It was no surprise Soto was the king of the idiots, but I had bigger things to worry about—like defending our net.
Throughout the game, Soto continued with his antics. He “accidentally” kicked my stick while we were sitting on the bench, and pushed me when I was hoisting myself over the boards.
As the game progressed, I was getting closer and closer to shoving my stick up his ass.
Midway through the second period, it finally all came to a head. I was battling for position in front of our net when Soto decided to take a cheap shot, cross-checking me in the back.
