Chapter 6
JAKOB
“You had the chance to lay Zane Hirst out again and you passed it up?” Detenbeck lifted his goalie mask, revealing a look of shock and faux disgust beneath. “Shit, dude, I never could’ve left something that tempting on the table.”
“Well, that’s you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, really. Think about it from a common-sense standpoint. I can’t just go around serving up haymakers to everyone that looks at me the wrong way.”
“But you wouldn’t be sending random people to the moon. You wouldn’t be without a damn good reason either. He challenged you, didn’t he? No, no, wait, he demanded you meet him outside. Would it be your fault when this guy was almost literally begging for it?”
I shrugged. That was the problem with the other person having a point.
You looked like a total idiot for thumbing your nose at common sense.
Oh, they’d call it opportunity, but that seemed so unfair.
I’d only told Detenbeck about the incident at the end of practice, while I rehearsed shots and he defended the net, because the story seemed too juicy not to share.
Truth was, I had no desire to slug Zane again, even if it would’ve made me look like the toughest S.O.B. on the planet. The whole ordeal at the bar should’ve been a one off because I’d had to defend my teammates.
“I know,” I said, “but wouldn’t you feel kind of ridiculous stepping outside like that because someone else commanded you?”
“Not if it was one of the Remington Riptides.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course I’m serious. You should’ve popped him one and made him sorry he ever challenged you.”
“We were in the middle of a candy store, for God’s sake.”
“I wouldn’t care if we were teaching Sunday school, bro. If Zane, or any of those assholes, wanted a piece of me, I would be more than happy to give it to them.”
Really, I’d found the whole thing too funny to not smile when I reflected on it.
The whole thing blew up in Zane’s face. I slipped out the door and scrambled across the street where an Esso station stood on the corner.
From there, I slid behind the building and watched Zane, wondering how long he would stand there with his thumb up his ass.
Turned out far better than I could’ve hoped because a Buffalo P.D.
cruiser pulled up in front of him and an absolutely enormous cop stepped out.
He didn’t dwarf Zane, but their height differential was more than apparent as he stood several inches taller.
Like, the tip of Zane’s head came up to his eyebrows.
No easy feat since Zane himself stood a good six-four.
The cop didn’t cuff Zane or take him away.
Nothing that serious, unfortunately. He did appear to ask the Riptide for I.D.
, as Zane stuffed his hand into his pocket, produced his wallet, and passed a card to him.
And I covered my mouth, laughing from a distance.
Seriously, I could’ve laughed hard enough at that to be heard.
Seeing Zane get hassled like that provided enough satisfaction, so I strolled back to my car, grateful the whole thing had ended without another fist fight.
“So, you’re saying I really should’ve dropped the hammer on this guy, huh?”
“Why not? The opportunity doesn’t come up every day.”
“I know, but I’m really not that kind of guy normally.”
“That bar fight says different, Jakob. Jax Echlin is the weak link on that team, at least for scrapping.”
“No shit; he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag.”
“You’re telling me. Zane is probably the toughest and strongest of the group. If you hadn’t laid him out like you did, there’s no telling how things would’ve panned out for us.”
I arched my eyebrows, realizing I hadn’t thought of it that way.
In fact, I would’ve wanted to forget everything entirely and shelve the incident in a back corner of my memory—if it hadn’t made such a cool story to tell.
I punched Zane because he was there, plain and simple.
It was like shooting fish in a barrel. I didn’t think of myself as a tough guy despite Ryan Detenbeck’s determination to build me up as one.
“What about Coach Hardison?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“You know what he said after the Colter Bay Grill brawl. We’ll get cut from the team if we get into any more trouble with the Riptides.”
“And I told you he can’t possibly cut the entire team, so that point’s moot.”
“But we’re not talking about the whole team. It was just me, so he wouldn’t have any trouble cutting just one player. I would’ve been up shit creek.”
Detenbeck glanced at me before lowering his mask and positioning himself before the net. Obviously, he wouldn’t listen to any more excuses. I skated up to the blue line and fired off some pucks before advancing forward, swinging around the net, and sweeping the puck past the goalie.
“That was a lucky shot, you know that?” he said.
“I think the shot I got in on Zane Hirst was pretty lucky when you think about it.”
“Don’t say that, dude. You’ve got to tell yourself you’re a total badass. You keep telling yourself that, and you’ll believe it, especially since you now have the resume to back it up.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that one. Hockey player or not, I’d never thought of myself as a tough guy, badass, or one nasty motherfucker, but Detenbeck had a point: I possessed the resume to back it up.
Even better, I was proving I could score on Ryan Detenbeck anytime I wanted to, for I swung around that half of the rink, charged at the goalie, and slapped the puck into the net a second time.
With both arms raised triumphantly, I found Detenbeck on his knees, his head bowed slightly, as if in prayer. I stopped before the net. He stood up and lifted his mask again.
“Seriously, though,” Detenbeck said, “if you ever see that guy or any one of those assholes again, you’ve got to lay them out flat. Fuck the consequences.”
“I wish I could be as carefree as you, bro. I just don’t want this to turn into something.”
“It already is something.”
I couldn’t deny that but giving into pressure to punch Zane when I didn’t actually want to would only worsen the problem.
After all, I wanted the Larkin Lions to contend for a National Title.
I wasn’t on the team that won the big one like Ryan Detenbeck was, and I experienced the hunger of any young player that hadn’t yet hoisted the National Title trophy.
“Is his face still seriously messed up?” the goalie asked. “Wait, his face is always a little messed up. I’m talking about the swelling from that little love tap you gave him.”
“It was still there, just not as bad as it was the next day at the game.”
Detenbeck flashed a satisfied smile like that made everything worth it.
That made me stop and think about it, though. Part of me truly felt bad about the punch because fighting wasn’t in my nature. I also felt shitty for what my fist did to his face, even if the damage was only temporary. It seemed like even more of a shame since Zane had such a handsome face.
Wait a minute, hold the phone. Had I really entertained a thought like the one that’d floated through my mind?
I mean, Zane Hirst did have a nice face.
Anyone could see that he had strong cheekbones and piercing eyes.
Actually caring about that was another thing.
My problem was that I considered it a shame to mess it up.
No, no, worse than just a shame. I compared it to vandals throwing paint at the Mona Lisa.
Okay, now this was getting seriously out of hand. Pretty soon, Ryan Detenbeck would be urging me to snap out of it.
“The fact that he’d come back for more really surprises me,” the goalie said. “You’d think your fist would’ve taught him not to mess with you.”
“Yeah, you would think, but some people never learn.”
“And to think, he’s not even the biggest idiot on that team. That title will forever belong to Jax Echlin.”
“Yeah, but Jax Echlin doesn’t have an amazing face.”
I wanted to clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying anything more but didn’t.
Thank God because that would’ve dashed any hope I would’ve had of covering up my comment.
Detenbeck paused and furrowed his brow like he expected me to correct myself.
Back-pedaling would’ve given me away the same as a hand over my mouth, so I played it cool.
“I mean, Jax Echlin has a face like an elephant’s ass,” I said. “Sorry, Freudian slip.”
Detenbeck cracked up laughing because he thrived on dumb comments like that. The whole team did, really. If that distracted him from the dumbass comment that’d slipped out of my mouth, then that was fine by me.
When we headed off the ice, Detenbeck said, “You remember what I told you, okay?”
“That Jax Echlin is the biggest hothead on the Remington Riptides?”
“No, that Hardison can lay down rules, but he’ll have a hell of a time enforcing them.”
“Dude—”
“No, don’t dude me. The next time that shit, Zane, challenges you, I want you to pop him one. Don’t come to me with a story about him approaching you that doesn’t involve giving him a knuckle sandwich. Trust me, Hardison won’t be able to do shit, especially if that dick provokes you.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. The only thing as important as bringing home another National Title is winning this war with the Riptides once and for all.”
In the locker room, Detenbeck opened his locker and stripped out of his gear, as did I.
Soon, I would find the escape hatch from this conversation I’d wanted since the moment I’d commented on Zane Hirst’s face.
Thank God Detenbeck was far too concerned with texting to care about continuing this conversation.
On the way out, he pointed to me, saying, “Don’t forget what I told you, okay?”
“Uh huh.”
I sucked in a deep breath the moment he was gone.
Sure, I could pretend like what I’d said had been nothing.
What I’d said wasn’t my real problem. The thought haunted me.
I couldn’t banish from my mind the thought of his face, mostly because I really did find it incredible.
Even scratched up and slightly swollen, I still saw its exceeding beauty.
There I go again…
The worse part of it was that those thoughts had to mean something… but what?