18. Rhett
RHETT
Friday night. The big game. Our hockey showdown against the only other undefeated team in our division.
The Detroit Pirates were fucking rockstars.
They had a multitude of championships underneath their belt, which was more than what we could say for ourselves.
The stadium was packed. Even in the locker room, the dull roar of the sold-out stadium seats penetrated through the cinderblock walls.
The bar across the street already ran out of the food that they donated to the games.
The new drink stations that Victoria had put in were already struggling with the amount of people buying and refilling them.
It was a madhouse.
I fucking loved it.
“All right, team, listen up,” Coach’s voice echoed over our heads.
“This is the game. It may not be our season-ender game, but this game will be the game that knocks one of us out of the running for the championship division title game. Canada’s team won their game last night, which means we have to bring the heat.
Not just to win this game, but to show the Canadian Dynamites that we are coming for them, come hell or high water. ”
Coach scanned the locker room, looking at all of us before he continued.
“I don’t want you to focus on that, though,” he finally said, shocking all of us.
“What I want you to focus on is that crowd. Their cheering. Their applause. Because damn it, boys, we did it. We did the one thing no one thought we’d be able to do.
We ran an undefeated season, with absolutely no hiccups, pieced together with what people believe are nothing more than leftovers. ”
I knew he was talking about himself, and it boiled my blood.
I wanted to check someone into the wall just for making Coach feel that way.
“We know the media is breathing down our throats,” he said, his voice growing louder, indicating the end of his speech.
“We know what they want. They want to see us lose. They want to see us fall. They want to see us come tumbling down.” He grinned before he bellowed.
“So let’s give those fuckers a goddamn show, boys! Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s gooooo!”
He clapped his hands as the guys erupted into applause. We slammed our helmets against the locker doors. Some stomped their feet onto the floor. Others let loose whistles and claps of their own.
Me?
I sat there, staring at the floor between my blades, focusing on where we had to step next.
Jett and I studied plays day in and day out.
Not just the plays Coach wanted us to drill, either.
We watched plays of the Pirates, and they were dirty fucking players.
I knew they’d go straight for Moose and Jett at the drop of a hat.
They had a pattern of taking out everyone around the center before gunning for the main man.
And when I looked up, I saw Jett staring at me.
I knew what he was thinking.
Stay alert. Stay solid. Stay vigilant.
Coach led us out of the locker room. But instead of making our way to the ice, we made our way to a side hallway. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.
That was until I heard a booming announcer’s voice kick on.
“LET’S MAKE SOME NOOOOOIIIIISE!”
The crowd went wild, cheering so hard that it became deafening, and I saw Coach’s smile grow. Some of the guys gasped and snickered. Others even chuckled. And when I turned my eyes toward the ice, I realized why.
I watched as the Detroit Pirates were introduced one by one by the announcer over a speaker system I didn’t even realize Victoria replaced.
Man, that guy’s voice was fucking crisp.
Detroit Pirate after Detroit Pirate charged out onto the ice once their names were called.
Fire escaped from devices on the ice I’d never once seen before at Caldwell Arena, and the fire tunnel ushered every single Pirate onto the ice and onto the bench.
There were people off to the side utilizing cannon guns to shoot jerseys into the stands.
Jerseys that matched the number and name of the person being announced.
“AND NOOOOOW! FOR YOUR HOME TEAM! GIVE IT UP FOR THE LAS VEGAS VIPEEEEERS!”
The crowd went wild, stomping their feet against the stand and twirling noise makers into the air.
One by one, we were introduced with the guys skating out onto the rink and shredding their blades against the ice.
It didn’t shock me one bit when Jett made his way over there and shirked his blades against the ice so much that it sprayed onto their center.
The man looked pissed as hell, too.
Good.
I wanted them all in their feels for this game.
It would be the only tactical advantage we had before getting on the ice.
“AND NOW, FOR YOUR CAPTAIN! YOUR CENTER! THE HUB OF THE TEAM THAT KEEPS THE SPOKES TOGETHER! GIVE IT UP FOR…. RHEEEEEETT ‘STONE’ CALLOWAAAAAY!”
Fire engulfed the entrance as I shot out onto the ice.
Heat battered my shoulders and helmet, but the cool of the ice at my ankles pushed me onward.
I broke through the tunnel of flames with a crowd welcoming me with noise makers, fog horns, and whistleblowing.
I took a skate around the rink forward before reversing and doing it backward, waving to everyone that I could in the stands.
I even raised my eyes to find Victoria in her VIP box, perched on high and gazing down at Caldwell Arena.
Even though she couldn’t see it through my helmet, I flashed her a smile.
I resisted the urge to point at her. Not just because I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to acknowledge her in public like that, but because a man pointing at a woman from the ice was a man who needed everyone else to know what he had.
I knew what I had. She knew what I had. That was enough.
Twenty seconds of eye contact under a Jumbotron didn’t make me her man any more than scoring the next goal would.
I was already her man. Had been for three years.
The pointing was for guys who needed to convince themselves.
Get your head in the game, Rhett. Later.
The first period was a blur. Tracking their center proved difficult.
He was quick on his feet, even quicker with his puck, and his footwork alone could’ve rivaled the professionals.
Clearly he had his sights aimed for something like that, because by the time the first period was over, they were already ahead of us, one to zilch.
Then we got to the second period.
Jett and I passed the puck back and forth, utilizing one of our fake-out techniques to even out the score.
The buzzer for their goal sounded, kicking off the red-light alarm on the back of every goal.
The crowd leapt to their feet. People screamed so hard that I heard them shrieking.
I pointed my finger toward the crowd as Jett held his stick up into the air, pumping it as if you’d pump a fist.
Their fucking center came around, shearing fresh ice right in his path sending Jett tumbling to the ground.
“Hey!” Coach bellowed as he threw an immediate flag on the play onto the ice. “You better keep your boys off mine! This is a game! Not a back-alley match!”
I watched one of the black-and-white striped officials on the ice shoot Coach a look. Without thinking, I pulled Jett to his feet and made a beeline for Coach. I stood in front of him, blocking him with my mountainous form as his face grew with frustrated anger.
“Coach,” I said through my mask.
He drew in a solid breath before shaking his head. “I want you to keep an eye out for—”
“Let’s run the play.”
He paused. “What?”
“The play you had me and Jett drilling for the last few weeks. Let’s see if we can’t pull it off.”
Coach tilted his head as one of the officials called a minor penalty on the opposing team. The crowd cheered, a few booed, and just like that, we had a one-upped advantage on the ice.
Coach nodded. “Keep it low and tight.”
I grinned. “With pleasure, Coach.”
I pushed off and away from Coach, racing toward Jett as we all got back into formation on the ice.
I looked over at him and nodded my head before I shook it twice, a little code between us to let him know that we were attempting the play.
Now, Jett and I didn’t always pull this off.
But if we could, it would not only put us up a point, but it would communicate to these Pirates that we weren’t here to play around.
No matter how much they fucked with us.
The puck dropped. Sticks clattered. Blades pushed off the ice, and all of a sudden, the roar of the crowd faded away. No longer was the Jumbotron buzzing above my head. No longer was the announcer’s voice booming in my ears. It was just me, the ice, that puck, and Jett in my peripheral.
I bared a hard left, wrapping around a couple of Pirates coming at me.
Moose skated from side to side, his shadow moving across the ice as I wrapped back around toward him.
I gave Jett a second to line himself up.
I led the Pirates all the way around the fucking rink, just to tire them out a bit.
And when Jett was in place, I acted like I slapped the puck in his direction.
I quickly whipped it back through my feet.
Langley came up behind me and captured the puck. While Jett chirped at the players, antagonizing them as they went after him, I watched as Langley pulled away from the crowd. At first, the crowd booed as the Pirates gained steam on Jett. And then, Jett came to a grinding halt.
One of the Pirates attempted to steal the puck from him.
Only to figure out he didn’t have it.
Watching them scramble was the thrill of a lifetime. Watching Langley line up that fucking shot and put us a point ahead sent the crowd into a riled frenzy. People cheered so hard that I knew they’d lose their voices. We’d have a hoarse population come tomorrow morning.
I wanted to make their screaming worth it.
It wasn’t long before the Pirates turned it on us, though. Their rock-solid defense came careening at us, and I immediately backtracked toward Moose. Not that I didn’t think he could fend off their assault, but we never strung our goalie out like that.
We worked as a team.
No matter what the other team was doing.
“Get behind the goal!” Coach bellowed. “Behind it! Someone guard the back!”
I didn’t know why the fuck Coach wanted something like that, but I was on it. While our guys chased those fuckers around on the ice, I watched as that puck grew closer. With Langley on one side of Moose and Jett on the other, I took up space behind the goal.
And then I realized why Coach wanted me to do it.
These Detroit Pirates were big fucking dudes. All of them, easily as big as me. And the downside to that? Two of us couldn’t fit behind that goal. If one of them came tearing back here, they’d careen right into me.
Coach was laying traps for penalty box timeouts.
Goddamn it, that man was a genius.
But then I heard the slap of a stick against the puck. I watched as the puck left the ground, soaring higher than a puck needed to. I watched Jett’s face morph just as Langley dove in front of Moose. I watched Langley’s body crash to the ice, the ill-timed jump done out of desperation.
“Moose! Get down!” I bellowed when I realized the trajectory of the puck.
I should have known Moose wouldn’t have listened, however.
That puck soared right for the weak spot on his helmet.
That damned rubber puck hit the metal wire rings that covered the eyes and nose of his helmet, jamming itself right in there.
Right in front of his fucking eyes. The damned puck traveled so fast through the air that it bent the goddamn metal frame that protected his fucking face.
It knocked Moose clear off his feet as he slid just outside of the boundary of the goal.
The stadium fell silent. Officials skated over. Coach already threw flags on the play while the opposing team’s coach barked orders.
It was Jett’s voice that I heard first, however.
“You better run, you fuckin’ son of a bitch,” he growled as he ripped off his helmet and his gloves, “because I ain’t chirpin’ no more.”
Jett pushed off the ice, moving at a blinding speed, and before I could intercept him, he tackled that motherfucker to the ground.
Langley was next, hopping up and racing toward the dog pile as two of those massive Pirates leapt onto Jett’s back.
I raced to Moose and helped him up. Officials were already over there with him, checking his mask and wiggling the helmet off his head to make sure he was all right.
I didn’t even get pulled away from Moose before someone crashed into me, sending me flying to the ice.
“You don’t touch a fucking goalie!” Langley bellowed somewhere in the distance.
And then, the crowd chanted.
“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
I felt a glove slam against my helmet over and over again, and it wasn’t until someone ripped him off me that I was able to get up.
It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter that it was one of the officials.
It didn’t matter that whistles were already being flown.
It didn’t matter that red cards were dropping to the ice like fucking confetti.
Moose was on his back behind the goal. Jett was pinned under two Pirates. Langley was getting his bell rung at center ice. And somewhere in the stands, Victoria Caldwell was watching the team she’d spent fourteen years building get jumped in front of a sold-out crowd.
Twenty-three other guys.
That’s what was on me. That’s what the C on my chest was for.
Not the captaincy I’d earned and not the contract I was protecting and not even the goddamn ice my mother wasn’t watching from somewhere out in the world.
Twenty-three other guys who’d bled with me on this ice and a woman in a VIP box who’d put her whole heart into making us into something worth watching.
I tossed my stick down and threw myself at the man that had the audacity to tackle me away from our goalie.
Because you didn’t fuck with goalies.
Ever.
And these Pirates were about to learn some lessons in some fucking manners.