Chapter 17
August
“You’re like yin and yang,” said Bradshaw in a dramatic voice, like he was narrating for a movie trailer. “Darkness and light. Good versus evil.”
“The fuck is he talking about?” Niko snapped, that seething temper of his rising to the surface faster than it normally did.
“Giacomo Barzetti,” said August, nodding toward the gigantic defenceman on the Barbarians team. “He’s an inch shorter than me, and he has black hair, so Bradshaw’s being weird about it.”
Bradshaw bumped shoulders with him, and August was deeply regretting his decision to take a position on the forward bench.
“You’re both big, scowly bastards.” Bradshaw elbowed him again. “I’m trying to build a rivalry here, but you’re too easy-going.”
A rivalry? Barzetti was like six years younger than him. The kid looked miserable enough without being harassed into a pointless battle of scowls and heights.
“Going—” Bradshaw leapt over the wall as one of the other Bigfoot forwards raced to the bench, and August gave him a friendly tap for good luck.
The game was going great so far. There were still kinks that August needed to work out, but he felt good being on a line with Niko and Callahan. It was only the first period, and he’d already gotten an assist on Niko’s wicked wrist shot goal and had rung the pipes once on his last shift.
Maybe switching to forward was exactly what he needed. It had nothing to do with Quinn and the anticipation of meeting him in his hotel room after the game.
Nothing at all.
Bradshaw got a breakaway and the voices of the New York crowd grew loud as he approached the net, but a Barbarian defenceman stupidly threw his stick, tangling it under Bradshaw’s skates and taking him to the ice.
The whistle blew, calling for an interference penalty as August and every guy on the Bigfoot team aggressively smacked their sticks on the wall.
“He would have got it too,” said Niko, swinging a leg over the wall and grinning at August. “Let’s go get it back for him.”
“Agreed,” said Callahan. He was hopping the wall as well, meeting a frowning Bradshaw when he returned to the bench, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Shawzy. We’ll go out there and give them hell.”
Bradshaw was muttering something that sounded like, “Shit, fuck, bastard, motherfucker, asshole,” but August couldn’t make him out over the booing crowd and the whistles blowing.
August joined the power play team in the Barbarian’s zone, staying close to Callahan so he could get a briefing on the play.
“I want Niko ready to scoop the puck, but I’m aiming for you,” Callahan said, locking eyes with August. “Once I win the draw, Neeks will crash the net—they’ll be watching for Gusty to apply pressure, so we’ll catch them off guard. Be ready for the pass and bury the puck.”
Before the game, a reporter had asked Callahan if moving August to forward was just a way to make room on the ice for the faster, lighter Niko, but it wasn’t, and Coach knew what he was doing.
August might’ve been one of the bigger guys on the roster, but he could move when he needed to, and he’d spent countless hours honing a shot that could rocket past a goalie before they registered the release.
The whistle blew, and both teams closed in for the face-off. Just like they’d predicted, the Barbarians stacked their defence around Niko to cut off his movement, but August got Barzetti lined up beside him, and damn, the guy was a brick wall on skates.
The puck dropped, and in an instant, August exploded backward into his sweet spot, quicker than Barzetti could react.
Callahan won the draw and sent the puck right where he wanted it—to August. Before the Barbarians could regroup, August already had it on his stick in one smooth catch, and then used the release that his team had been banking on.
The puck sliced through the air and snapped into the top corner over the goalie’s left shoulder, and the red light flared.
There was no goal horn for them on enemy ice, but it didn’t matter. August’s teammates crashed into him, shouting, laughing, and pounding him on the back as sticks rattled against the boards. Even over the boos and groans of the home crowd, the sound of victory was loud.
August left the pile of sweaty teammates to bump fists with the guys on the bench, who were looking at him…
differently. And it wasn’t until August was sitting and wiping his visor off that he realized the headache that had been torturing him for weeks had settled into a pain he could barely register.
Thank fuck.
“You’re on a fucking heater, Snow.”
“Good job, Gusty.”
“That was a sick shot, man.”
Everyone seemed excited, but they still had two more periods to get through, and they only had a one-point lead. August wasn’t going to jinx himself by thinking they had the game in the bag until they made it to the last thirty seconds with no chance of a Barbarian comeback.
Niko walked through the gate and shut it roughly. He had been playing with an attitude all night, and August was getting tired of dealing with his temper tantrums.
“I said I was sorry about leaving the hotel room without telling you,” he shouted over the music. “You don’t have to be scared every time I disappear, Neeks.”
Granted, August had scared himself when he came to his senses in Quinn’s room with no recollection of how he got there, but he was working on it.
“I need to talk to you about something after the game,” August added, tentatively extending the olive branch. “Please, stop being mad at me? We’re kicking ass here, so let’s turn the frown upside down.”
Niko’s nose crinkled, and although his eyes didn’t leave the ice while he watched the next face-off, his voice was lacking the biting tone he’d been using all night. “You’re so goddamn old. Turn the frown upside down? What are you, an elementary school teacher?”
Niko was spicy tonight, and August was starting to think that he wasn’t the only one who needed to make a sex pact with someone.
He swung his arm over Niko’s shoulders and shook him. “Trust me, you’ll like hearing about my woes this time. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.”
That earned him his friend’s full attention, but it was time for them to go back out, so August knocked Niko’s helmet around and jumped the wall before there was retaliation.
Bradshaw slid him the puck on his way to the bench, and August snatched it in mid-stride, breaking into the Barbarians’ zone with both speed and intimidation, careful not to get called for being offside.
The defence closed in fast with two big bodies ready to pin him, but August flicked the puck backward without looking, trusting his instincts and the sound of Niko’s skates cutting the ice behind him.
“Fuck!”
The frustrated bark from the Barbarian defenceman made August grin. They both knew what that pass meant. It meant Niko already had the puck and was flying down the sheet with the kind of speed that could rival Jett Fraser on a good night.
The Barbarians scrambled to recover, their formation unravelling as desperation took over.
Their sticks clashed, and skates carved deep lines in the ice in a last-ditch effort to stop what everyone in the arena could see coming, but August and Callahan used their bulk to keep them back, clearing the way.
The goalie dropped low, trying to read Niko’s angle, but he feinted left and snapped the shot high, catching the top corner before anyone could blink.
The red light flared again.
August was burning with adrenaline as he slowed to a stop, watching Niko punch the air in triumph. The sound in the arena fractured between cheers and boos while August joined their third celebration of the night, bumping gloves with Niko.
“Nice pass,” Niko panted, grinning as sweat dripped from his hairline.
August smirked. “Nice finish.”
Callahan clapped them both on the shoulders as they skated toward the bench for the TV timeout. “That’s how we do it, boys. Clean, fast, and lethal.”
“Hey, Frosty!”
Niko had a bigger reaction to the Barbarian player chirping him than August did. He turned on the young forward, shoulders squared and ready for a fight, but August stopped him with a shove toward the bench.
Once he was sure Niko was subdued, August glided to the redline where the small brunet was waiting, peering at August through his visor.
“You ever think about asking for a trade?” the guy, whose name August was sure was Leland Sandford, asked. “We could build an Eiffel tower if we had you and Barzetti on the same team. And Greene isn’t short either—we could set a record for having the tallest players.”
Okay, this wasn’t chirping. August had no idea what was happening, but the ref who had been watching them seemed to think there was no pending fight coming and backed off.
August was still trying to dissect the meaning of Sandford’s Eiffel Tower comment when the guy spluttered and removed his helmet.
“Sorry, I’m friends with Jett,” said Sandford, pausing to take his mouthguard out before flashing August a bright smile. “He told me I should say hi to you because you’re super nice and looking to make friends because you’re sad.”
Chuckling, August returned Sandford’s smile, though his mind was already elsewhere, plotting fifty different ways to commit a very specific murder the next time he saw Jett.
“Nice to meet you,” August lied. “Good luck with your Eiffel Tower.”
He abruptly left, ignoring whatever response Sandford was calling out to him. He knew he was making a face as he returned to the bench because Niko’s eyes went wide when August came in through the gate.
“What’s wrong?” Niko asked.
August accepted a towel offered to him by a nearby staff member and wiped his sweaty face. “I’m going to kill Jett Fraser.”
“It’s Jett Killinger,” said Niko.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
August was honestly impressed that Niko had managed to hold the question in all the way to their hotel room. Knowing him, that kind of restraint was equal to a miracle.