Chapter 21 Griffin
Griffin
“Mahoney! Where the hell have you been?” Coach bellows through the locker room, overwhelming every other conversation and plunging the whole space into silence. He’s not a yeller, so I’ve obviously severely pissed him off by showing up late and missing his pregame pep talk.
All my teammates studiously focus on their skates and sticks, trying to stay out of the line of fire. Even Brody stays mostly silent, just quietly humming, “Dum-dum-dum-dummm,” under his breath to mourn my impending demise.
“Got caught up in something. I’m here now.” I’m not even half dressed yet, still working my socks over my shin guards with my pants sitting on the bench beside me.
“We’ll talk about this more later,” Coach says, clearly pissed, “but for now, get ready to play. You don’t have time to screw around.”
That conversation is not going to end well.
Coach is clear on expectations, and I just shit all over them.
But I had to. I was not going to cut that conversation short for anything.
The game could’ve started, and I would’ve still been sitting with Penny, if that’s what it took for her to give me a shot.
As soon as Coach disappears back into his office, Dominic appears, looming over me in his full gear minus his skates. “I told you to wait till after the playoffs to figure out your shit with this girl.”
He’s making an educated guess, because I sure as hell haven’t told him where I was or why I was late. “Later,” I declare. “We need to focus on the game.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you seem focused as fuck, asshole.”
I’m not. Not at all. I feel lighter than I have in years. Maybe lighter than I’ve ever been. I feel like my conversation with Penny healed some shit that’s been tearing me up inside my entire life, and that kiss goodbye promised a bright future I’ve only ever dreamed of.
The anger that usually simmers just below my surface is simply . . . gone. Which would normally be a good thing.
But for me, the team enforcer, a mere thirty minutes out from what promises to be a very physical, aggressive game in which I’m going to have to fight like a monster?
Not so much. I need to find that anger, draw it back up from the deep, dark well in my center so I can use it to unleash hell on the Torches in defense of my Hawks.
“I already hate her, you know that? She’s got her claws all up in your head, and we have a damn Cup to win,” Dominic sneers.
And there’s the anger.
Instantly, I rise, grabbing his jersey in my fist. “Shut the fuck up, man. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tries to push me off, but I’m bigger, heavier, and madder than he is. I will also not let him talk shit about Penny, even if he doesn’t know that’s who he’s talking about.
“I know enough,” he spits out.
Howe and Brody join forces, pulling Dom and me off of each other until they’re standing between us. Howe’s lucky he’s the one with a staying hand on my chest. I respect him enough to not throw him off. Brody wouldn’t be so lucky.
Dominic points a finger at me. “Get your head in the game. Don’t fuck this up for all of us over some pussy.”
“It’s not like that!”
Dom stomps off, his slides squeaking on the tile floor as he heads to the bathroom. A second later, the slamming of a door echoes through the locker room. Brody immediately spins around, his bright eyes nearly dancing. “Honey’s got a honey?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jordan.”
“Oooh, must be serious if you’re using my government name,” he taunts.
But he’s not as stupid as he looks, and though he has a shit-eating grin on his face and makes some did you hear that?
eyes at the other guys, he goes back to getting ready, leaving me to do the same.
Thankfully, no one else says a word to me either.
I don’t see Dominic again until we’re lining up for our entrance.
We usually fist-bump before we take the ice, saying our motto of “you and me, two against the world,” but this time, he shoulder checks me as he steps in front of me to take his place in the lineup.
Staring at the back of his helmet, I can feel it all slipping away.
Our friendship is never going to be the same once he knows about me and Penny. But I’ve chosen him for five years—over myself, over Penny, over any chance at happiness. And I can’t do that anymore. I won’t.
The only thing I can do for now is make sure we win tonight.
The game starts hard and fast, with Jack Off and the Torches’ center going at it right from the drop, sticks flashing as they fight for the puck.
I hold back, letting them handle their shit, but keep a close eye, ready to step in if things progress from hard hockey to cheap shots.
We do get the puck as Jack Off gets it out to Dom, who sends it up to Brody, but nothing develops during the rotation, and the Torches get it back just as Coach rotates us off the ice for the second line.
The next rotation isn’t much smoother. Or the one after that.
Last night’s loss is still hot and fresh for the Torches, fueling their every move.
They’re aggressive but sloppy, their rage doing them no favors.
On the other hand, we have the luxury of a secured spot in round one of the playoffs.
Tonight’s game effectively doesn’t matter for the Hawks, but we never play like that.
Every game is a chance to dominate, to shine, to win, and we attack it as such, showing no mercy.
Play after play, I hold the defensive line, sacrificing myself bodily to keep the Torches away from Howe’s goal.
And while Dominic and I are mad at each other, it doesn’t matter on the ice.
Our moves have been practiced for years, to the point where they’re automatic.
I don’t have to look at him to know where he is, and anytime I need him, he’s there, and vice versa. It’s a dance between us.
There’s just one extra little problem.
Penny.
She’s on the ice crew tonight, so she’s constantly on the edge of my field of vision with a few other cheerleaders and the rest of the crew. And I can’t keep my eyes off of her.
She has on the skirted uniform that’s always driven me crazy, paired with tall green-and-white-striped socks and hockey skates.
I don’t know why seeing her in a tiny skirt and hockey skates does something to me, but it always has.
Tonight it’s sending my blood flow to my dick, and my jock doesn’t exactly have space for an erection.
Dom is going after Campbell, one of the Torches’ forwards, who’s making a play toward the goal, and I defend the passing lane, making sure that nobody can slip behind for a dink-and-dunk-type deflection goal.
I’m not worried, Dom’s got this guy handled.
He’s a beast on the ice in his own right.
And like she’s pulling them, my eyes tick to the right for the shortest of split seconds, directly to Penny.
I see her intense gaze as she watches her brother battle, and then her brows climb high as her mouth rounds.
I jerk my eyes back to the action just in time to feel Jenkins, the other Torch forward, slam a shoulder into the solid mass of my chest, knocking me almost onto my ass as he skirts by me for exactly what I’m supposed to be preventing.
“Tired, old man?” he chirps. I’m only two years older than Jenkins and not tired at all. But I was . . . distracted. And that distraction let Jenkins make an unchallenged shot. Howe does his best, doing the splits to the ice, but the puck slides into the net, lighting the lamp behind the goal.
The Torches just scored, and it’s my fucking fault. The crowd boos loudly . . . both at the opposing team’s goal and at my whiff.
“What the fuck, man? Where were you?” Dom snaps, as if he didn’t let Campbell get that wrist pass off. But that doesn’t matter when I should’ve had the lane, intercepting the pass to clear it out to Brody or Jack Off.
I don’t answer, other than banging my stick to the ice. He’s right. I have to focus. My whole life might’ve changed this afternoon, but I can’t forget that I’m in the middle of a game. I won’t let my teammates down. Again.
Attention locked on the ice, I find the anger I need to play my best. It’s directed at myself, but it’ll do. Any anger gives me the edge I need.
By the end of the period, we’ve tied it up. As the ice crew comes out to clear the ice, we skate to the exit and make our way to the locker room, where Coach beelines directly for me.
Going almost nose to nose despite the three inches my skates give me, he demands, “Do I need to pull you?”
“No! I’m in.”
With his eyes locked on mine, I can see the questions lurking in his. Being late isn’t like me. Missing a play like that definitely isn’t. But he’s trusting me.
The second period starts, and I attack the ice, the Torches, and even the puck, sending it sailing back to the other end at one point. It’s an icing call, but the boom of a puck banging off the glass almost fifty yards away brings people to their feet.
The cheers from the crowd fade into nothing as my focus locks onto the puck and the players on the ice. The world doesn’t exist outside the rink. Me and my teammates. Rotate in, rotate out, defend our ice, and make plays on the Torches’ goal.
“Griffin!”
It’s not my name that breaks through the fog. It’s the sound of Penny’s voice shouting my name in a tone that has nothing to do with cheering me on. She sounds . . . scared, and that sends a jolt of terror through me.
I lift my head, and though she’s standing with the ice crew, I find her instantly. She points above her head at the crowd. I don’t know why at first, don’t see anything amiss. And then . . .
I see them. Miles’s goons are working their way down the aisle, getting closer to Penny. It doesn’t look like they’ve seen her yet since she’s blocked from view in the tunnel under the stands, but they’re looking for her. One even gestures toward the Hawkette stage with a jerk of his chin.
“Fuck.”