Chapter 34 #2
For a split second, there was nothing. Then the goal horn detonated, and the quiet in his mind shattered.
Callahan had him in a headlock before August fully registered what he’d done, Niko yelling something incoherent in his ear as they collided near the boards. August laughed breathlessly, the sound tearing out of him before he could stop it.
One nothing. Control established in under sixty seconds.
Sorry, Eagles.
On the bench, Coach clapped him on the shoulder, and August took a long pull from his water bottle.
Chest heaving, he turned and grinned at the man sitting behind the bench, who was studying him with pretty green eyes.
Quinn made a show of sighing, like he thought August was being ridiculous, but he was smiling brightly to match him.
Not wanting to get caught up in all the emotions between them, August turned back to the ice for the next puck drop and held his breath.
“This team sucks,” said Niko, scowling like he was insulted by the show Washington was putting on so far. “They benched their only decent player; did you notice that?”
Yeah, he noticed, and it made August giddy to know they might have that decent player on their team before the trade deadline.
“Don’t let your guard down,” said August. He gestured toward the Washington players, who were answering the goal by applying pressure in the Vancouver zone.
They were getting aggressive with their forechecks and throwing their bodies against others at the boards with intent, which was never a good sign.
Callahan was already on it, whiteboard in hand as he mapped out their next play, showing Niko and August exactly what he wanted from them next shift.
Haas stopped a shot and then made another save on an awkward rebound that should have gone in, but the kid was flexible and had fast reflexes.
The Vancouver crowd were on their feet as Logan took control of the puck behind their net, giving time for a line change.
“Damn,” said Callahan. “Remind me to buy Sauce a beer later—or a chocolate milk on the rocks.”
Niko cackled and went to take the puck, and then it was back to business.
Washington pushed back hard as they entered the neutral zone, trying to muscle control away from them when they caught a shit pass from their veteran defenceman, Stan Milton.
August checked the Washington player into the boards and smacked it toward Callahan, who scooped it up and passed it to Niko to carry into the Washington zone.
August slipped between two defenders along the boards, shoulders rattling as one tried to pin him, but he was too tall for the guy to do any damage. August rolled off the hit, kept his feet, and forced the defence out of the way so he could accept the next pass.
“Fuck you, Snow!”
August didn’t know who shouted it. A series of sharp slaps against the ice told him where he needed to send the puck, and August fired it.
Their defenceman, Simon Skarsg?rd, caught the pass and sent a rocket of a shot top shelf from the blueline, and the fans were on their feet again. The goal horn blasted through the arena for the second time in five minutes, and the Washington goalie cursed and snapped his stick on the post.
Two to zero, and the crowd was going wild.
At this point, Dax was acting as a sleeper agent for them because the Eagles were falling apart, and they were lacking chemistry and coordination. It wasn’t hard to see that they were rattled about something more than a two-point lead, but that meant they would be easy to unravel.
August went to the bench for a drink during the commercial break, joining the team huddle as Coach went over their next play. He shamelessly made eye contact with Quinn, winking just to see him blush, and smiled when Logan’s wife started hugging Quinn and shaking him.
They were cute, and August was already thinking of places to go for double dates when Coach snapped at him.
“Snow. Pull head out of your ass. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Fedorov narrowed his eyes but went back to the whiteboard, loudly barking orders at Logan.
“Is this going to be my life now?” Niko asked as they went to the bench to wait for their shift. “You and Quinn staring longingly at each other through the glass, and the sound of smacking echoing through the house all night?”
“Fuck’s sake,” Callahan groaned, having overheard Niko’s bitching. “Can we not talk about sex with Quinn in any capacity, please? That’s my brother-in-law.”
Logan, who hadn’t heard the conversation, shoved a stick of smelling salts under Callahan’s nose before he could refuse. Callahan jerked back like he had been punched and doubled over, gagging and spitting, but he thankfully didn’t puke.
August was trying to rub his back, but he was laughing too hard because he kept locking eyes with Niko’s teary green ones, which sent them both into another fit of laughter.
“Sorry, Cap.” Logan knocked his gloves on Callahan’s helmet. “I didn’t mean to hold it so close—”
“I’m fine,” said Callahan, lifting his head to shake it off. “The whistle is about to blow. Get the fuck away from me.”
Haas joined in on the laughter before returning to the net, while Niko and August stared at center ice, both trying to hold a straight face.
“Well, I’m awake now,” said Callahan. “Along with all my past lives. Goddamn.”
The cheery mood took a turn at the next face-off. August didn’t like the way the Washington players were so amped up, and they were beginning to look less like a hockey team and more like a gang of thugs as the game went on.
It didn’t matter how many hits they landed on the Vancouver team because their plays never improved. Watching one of the better teams in the league self-implode was fascinating, and August felt a little bad for them, but they were doing themselves no favours by keeping Dax benched.
In the final five minutes of the period, one of the Eagles’ defencemen took a high-sticking penalty that turned into a double minor because Logan ended up with a bloody lip.
August stayed on the ice with him and Niko, which led to their third goal of the night to finish off the period. Logan got tackled, cursing loudly when August got too enthusiastic and nearly put him on his ass.
“They are pissed,” Logan said, nodding toward the Washington bench.
Some of the guys were still on the ice, shouting at the Bigfoots as August returned to the bench to wait. There was only a minute left on the clock, and Callahan was going back out, so he didn’t need to overexert himself now that they had a nice lead.
“Snow, need you out there,” shouted Fedorov. “Defence—don’t give up our points. Dawson is fighting his skate, and you’re our best guy.”
August nodded and took a drink before hopping the wall.
So much for not overexerting himself.
“Dawson?” Callahan asked as August joined him at the centerline.
“Technical difficulties,” said August, grinning. “He sends his love.”
Callahan snorted and moved to take the face-off against the Washington captain—Ivan Kuznetsov.
The fans were loud, and the music was still playing, but August heard the words clearly as they left Kuznetsov’s smirking mouth.
“Callahan, how is your wife?”
Somehow, Callahan was able to react when the puck hit the ice, most likely out of instinct. He lost the battle but was right behind Kuznetsov as he sprinted in August’s direction.
Heart pounding, August blocked Kuznetsov as much as he could without drawing a penalty, knowing he had a job to do. But it was so fucking hard when all he wanted was to lock eyes with Callahan and make sure he was okay, because that was a low-blow, even for an opposing team.
August slowed Kuznetsov enough that Callahan caught him, trying his best to strip the puck before Washington could take a shot at Haas in the net.
“Get off!” Kuznetsov snarled, and then his elbow came up as he made a spinning pass, and the blow clipped Callahan hard enough to knock his helmet off and send it skittering across the ice.
Callahan should have bolted for the bench once it disappeared in the melee, but he didn’t.
August was there to take away the shot, angling his body and reaching with his stick as the Washington defenseman drew back to wind up, and in that split second, August understood what was about to happen.
The space, the opening, and the path the puck would take—
The crack of stick against rubber was nothing compared to the thud of impact when the puck struck Callahan’s unprotected head.
August shouted, horror and panic seizing him as Eren’s arms folded tight to his body, and he crumpled, collapsing in a way that made August’s stomach drop.
No.
No. No.
No—no—no—
August didn’t hear the screaming. He didn’t see the fight break out.
He didn’t even notice the blood that was pooling on the ice as both benches emptied, throwing the world into chaos.
August’s body moved on its own, his knee burning from twisting it at a weird angle as he raced to Callahan’s side and threw himself on top of him.
He covered their heads as players from both teams wearing sharp blades, shoved each other, coming dangerously close to where August was shielding him on the ice.
Eren was twitching under him in a way that didn’t feel right. August didn’t know what to do, but all he could focus on was keeping Eren safe until the medical team arrived.
And that took seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
August wasn’t counting. He wasn’t breathing. His only purpose in that moment was to keep his captain safe—
And to make sure that Quinn didn’t lose another person he loved. August refused to let him go through that pain again.
Breathe in.
And out.