31. Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
J ax
“Who needs a pick-me-up?” I ask, holding my phone up in the air.
“Fuck yeah. Give me that pre-game tuneage,” Justin claps.
Connecting my phone to the bluetooth speaker, I scroll down to my pre-game playlist and hit shuffle. Everyone gears up for our classic headbang before the game. Only, instead of some metal head classic blaring through the speaker, Taylor Swift’s Love Story starts to play.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, swiping my phone from the bench.
I hit next, staring down at the screen. Backstreet Boys I Want It That Way .
“Man, Cap is going soft on us,” Quinton says with a chuckle.
Hitting next again, I glare down at my phone when Circus by Britney Spears starts to play. Grinding my teeth, I swipe the screen and open the playlist. Taylor Swift, NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, One Direction , the list goes on.
“Alright, who fucked with my playlist?” I snap, glaring at the guys.
When my eyes land on Ross and Quinton, they raise their eyebrows at me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for someone to fess up to this shit. Circus continues to play the entire time I stare them down.
“You’re really asking us who fucked with your playlist?” Ross asks quizzically.
“Yeah, I am. One of you fuckers better tell me which one of you assholes did this,” I bite out.
“My guess is she’s barely an inch over five feet tall, has curly blonde hair, and you wrapped around her pretty, little finger. What do you think, Quin?” Ross asks Quinton.
“Mine too. I mean, I know the pink hair is slowly starting to fade now that he realized it was his shampoo, but do you think the chemicals are slowly starting to fry his brain?”
I stare at both of them completely dumbfounded. I search my brain, wondering when she could’ve pulled this one off. Then, it hits me.
“She changed my playlist in the car,” I mumble to myself. “She changed my playlist?” I ask, my eyes meeting Ross’s.
He walks up and slaps me on the shoulder. “I think she changed a lot more than your playlist, Cap.”
The team doesn’t seem to mind though. I see many of them mouthing the iconic lyrics under their breaths as they lace up their skates or start to pull their pads on. With a pinch to my brow, I sit on the bench and grab my own skates. When the song changes to What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction, the entire team groans in unison.
I quickly skip the song, shaking off the shiver that crawls up my spine from the starting notes alone. The only person who grumbles their disapproval at the song change is Quinton. He used to sing that song nonstop during bench press reps until I threatened to cut his balls off in retaliation for the four month long torment the team endured because of his love for One Direction.
The next song to play is Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift. Everyone continues to dress in silence. I catch Ross mumbling the lyrics. When he meets my glare, his cheeks turn pink and he quickly turns toward the locker before strapping his helmet on.
“Who the fuck changed the playlist?” Coach Tyson grumbles just as No Scrubs by TLC starts to play when he walks into the locker room.
With a sigh, I say, “My girlfriend did, coach.”
“Well, in that case, I love it. She’s my favorite,” he says, straightening his tie. “Now, let’s go kick some BCU ass tonight, boys.”
“Yes, coach!” everyone shouts in unison.
This game has been anything but clean. The refs are making dirty calls. The Knights are getting away with cheap shot after cheap shot. It’s been the most grueling game of the season.
The score is tied 2-2 with only three minutes left in the game. If we don’t score in the next one hundred and eighty seconds, the game will roll into overtime. The entire crowd is screaming themselves hoarse. Between the Knights and the Wolves, I don’t know which fans are more riled up over this game.
The only thing I do know, is that Leroy Sanchez is seconds away from swallowing his teeth, courtesy of my fist. He’s been running his mouth all fucking night. I’ve done my best to ignore him, but every word that falls from his lips has my blood boiling.
“How’d you manage to get Harley Thomas in your jersey this time, Stone?” he says with a sneer.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Word on the street is you’re fucking that virgin pussy,” he taunts with a knowing glint in his eyes.
I grind my teeth into my mouth guard. I’m shocked he waited this long to bring her up, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to cut his tongue from his mouth. He sneers at me, his red mouth guard trapped between his teeth.
The puck drops and I slap it to Justin before it even hits the ice. Justin takes off down the ice, and I’m quick to follow. He passes it to Jace who then circles the net. He fakes the goalie out, pretending to slap the puck into the net and passing it back to me. With the goalie on his stomach, I have the perfect opening.
With a flick of my stick, the buzzer blares in the arena. Wolves score, bringing the game 3-2. The crowd goes nuts, between excited cheers and even louder protests at my goal.
One second, I’m watching as Jace and Justin do their post score celebration, and the next I’m being thrown into the boards hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. Pain radiates through my side, but my adrenaline has me snapping into action.
Before I can fall to the ice, I brace myself on the plexiglass. I turn around, facing Leroy Sanchez and tossing my stick to the ice. Leroy does the same, pulling his gloves off at the same time mine hit the ice at my feet. I don’t give him the chance to take the first swing.
I charge him with one hard kick off the ice and throw my fist into his face. I strike his jaw, feeling the bone crunch beneath my knuckles. His knuckles connect with the side of my face, making my teeth break the skin along the inside of my cheek.
Spitting blood at his feet, I mutter, “That the best you got, Sanchez? A poor dig at my girlfriend and an even weaker punch?”
He growls before charging me again. He lands two blows into my side, but not before I’ve grabbed him by the pads and taken him down to the ice. Pushing my knee into his chest, I slam my fist into the center of his face. The satisfying crunch of his nose meets my ears.
Lights out for Leroy Sanchez.
The chaos that unfolds around me, as the refs yank me off of him, can only be explained as complete pandemonium. I know that the rest of the team likely fought other members while I fought Leroy. The only difference is, Leroy is currently being carried off the ice by medics.
As for me? Well, I’ve been kicked off the ice for the last two and a half minutes of the game.