Chapter 6 I Guess We’re Fucking Doing This
Everett
We need another goal. Fuck, we need two goals because I want to see the look on Raph’s smug face when we win.
I move in towards the goal from the point just as Theo whips a pass onto my stick from the corner.
I hesitate, trying to freeze the goalie.
The stadium goes silent as I focus on the goal.
My stick curls as I wire a wrist shot at the net just as the butt of a stick jabs into my ribs, throwing me off my balance.
“Whoops,” Ulrich says, laughing and returning his stick to the ice.
“What did you say?” I ask, moving forward and bumping my chest up against his. My blood runs hot, and it’s taking everything in me not to drop the gloves with this guy. Fucking prick made me hit the post.
“Didn’t see you there,” he sneers.
I skate forward again, pushing him backward.
Tension has been building the entire game, and I want to snap.
“You need to fucking cool it, Ulrich,” I warn.
The hit against the boards at the start of the game was just the beginning.
He’s throwing questionable hits left and right, and the referees aren’t doing anything to hold him accountable.
“Or what?”
Theo skates to meet us and pushes me back. I try to ignore the throbbing in my ribcage. They don’t feel broken, but he sure as hell bruised them.
“That was a fucking penalty,” I yell, skating towards the referee.
“Watch it,” the ref warns.
Unfuckingbelievable.
I check the time on the clock. I need to change out, but I want to score. I want to win too badly, so I ignore what my body is telling me and continue to play.
Digging the puck out of a scrum in the corner, Theo wheels towards the slot, but he’s quickly targeted by a Rats defenseman. He fights to keep control of the puck but is shoved off it, and the puck is sent up the ice to the Rats’ left winger.
Theo charges the puck again, but Elijah is able to strip the puck carrier in the neutral zone. He turns back up ice and hits me with a pass near center ice.
In my periphery, I see Theo streaking down the wing, so I fire a backhand pass to him just before he reaches the Rats’ blueline. He catches the defender flat-footed and is in all alone with their goalie.
He shoots and scores, causing the arena to erupt in loud cheers.
Hell yeah, 2-2.
Skating to the bench, Theo and I jump off, followed by Elijah.
The game moves fast, and I watch as the Rats next shot on goal is blocked, and Kai recovers the puck. Two Rats’ blueliners swarm him before he’s able to get past center ice.
Fuck.
“You coming out tonight?” Theo asks, pulling my attention from the game.
“Huh?”
“Are you coming out with the team?”
“Focus,” I bark, returning my gaze to the ice.
Theo is a good player and friend, but he’s young.
I try to cut him some slack because I remember what it was like to be new to the league—the parties, the women, the attention.
It was easy to get wrapped up in all the fun and lose sight of the job I was hired to do, but his head should be in the game and not on whatever plan he and the rest of the team has concocted for after.
Getting distracted is going to cause us to lose, and we need to win.
“Come on Nuttall, don’t be such an old man.” He laughs. “Elijah got us the hookup at that new rooftop bar he was talking about at practice last week. It’s going to be sick, dude.”
“I’m good.”
I know I sound old as fuck, but I don’t care.
Tonight, I want to win, and then I want to go home.
A loud roof-top bar, my drunk teammates, and women I barely know begging for me to take them home sounds like my personal nightmare, especially when I can’t have a drink thanks to the shot that was injected into my arm.
“Suit yourself,” he says, standing. He follows Elijah, jumping over the boards as two of our players step off.
Adrenaline surges through my veins as I watch the clock, and my leg moves up and down as I anticipate the upcoming line change.
With nine minutes left in the game, I watch as Ulrich flies off the bench toward Theo. With all of his force, he elbows Theo in the head, causing him to fall to the ice.
“What the fuck?” I yell, moving to re-enter, but one of my teammates stops me, shoving me back down.
Elijah charges Ulrich, his glove making contact with his jaw before Raph can react. The crowd gets louder, egging them on as they meet each other blow for blow. The energy is palpable, and I want in.
Two linesmen skate toward the action, sounding their whistles and breaking up the two players.
Everyone disperses, and my teammates help Theo to stand.
He has that look in his eyes of a person who hit his head too hard.
The look of someone who isn’t registering everything that’s going on. No doubt about it, he has a concussion.
Ulrich watches with a shit-eating grin on his face as Theo skates toward the bench. What a fucking dick.
The referee makes his way to center ice and calls a major for fighting and a minor for elbowing on Ulrich. Elijah gets a major as well.
Our coach attempts to argue the call, but it’s useless.
Ulrich skates toward the penalty box laughing to himself, and our surrounding fans boo him. He moves his arms up and down, welcoming the attention and egging them on.
Prick.
Down a player, the Rats line up to face off against us, and I join my line on the ice.
The whistle sounds, and the puck hits the ice in front of me. The other center and I wrestle for it, but I ultimately win out, moving down the ice toward the opposing goal and crossing it to our left winger.
It’s amazing how much better my shoulder feels since the injection. I don’t have to anticipate the pain at all as I move, and I can focus clearly on my one goal—winning. We need one more, and I want to be the one to score it.
Moving as a unit, our left winger charges the goal with the puck as a Rats defenseman swarms around us and fights for possession.
He fires the puck towards me. Shooting, I miss wide.
The puck rebounds off the post and is caught by our right winger, who tries to get a clear shot but is blocked by a purple jersey.
I move behind the net to an open spot as I watch him fight to keep possession.
The crowd roars around me as he manages to maintain the puck and feed it back to me.
Moving quickly, I skate toward the top of the circle, toe drag, and flick the puck top shelf before the goalie can react.
The crowd erupts in cheers, and my teammates skate toward me in celebration.
3-2. Fuck yeah.
Making a lap around the ice, I pass by Ulrich, sitting in the penalty box, and throw him a wink.
The jumbotron flashes video of fans all around the stadium chanting my name.
The camera zooms in on Claire. Her whole face is lit up with a smile, and she’s cheering as loud as the Crowns fans around her.
She brings her hands up into a double high five, and the girl next to her follows her lead, playfully screaming in her face as their hands join.
My heart swells in my chest. Looking over toward Ulrich, I chuckle as I watch his eyes shift from the big screen to where she stands.
His face turns red, and his eyes go dark. He’s gripping his stick so tightly it looks as though he could snap it. Without warning, he stands and leaves the box early, gunning straight for me.
Fuck.
I anticipate the blow before it happens. One of his hands finds the neck of my jersey while the other makes sharp contact with my chin.
I guess we’re fucking doing this.
I attempt to shove him off of me, but he comes at me harder. His fist connects with my jaw again and knocks my helmet off.
My fist makes contact with the side of his face just as I hear a whistle blow.
The crowd sounds insane, getting louder with every swing.
The linesmen circle us trying to intervene.
In my periphery, I can see that both sets of our teammates have joined in.
Blurs of red and purple circle around us as everyone on the ice fights.
I strike the side of Raph’s head, and we fall to the ice.
The weight of a linesman on top of me causes me to stop.
Chest heaving and adrenaline still coursing through me, the linemen separate us, and I watch as the remainder of the fight is broken up.
The referee skates to center ice, calls a major on every player involved, and ejects Raph from the game.
The crowd roars at the announcement, and all I can think is finally. Picking up my helmet, I move toward the penalty box with my teammates to sit out the next five minutes.
Glancing toward the stands, I find Claire standing, chewing on her thumb nail, nervously. Her eyes find me and then shift back to Ulrich, who’s getting booed as he makes his way toward the tunnel.
Good riddance.