Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maddox
The crowd’s already a live wire when I step out of the tunnel, but the second my skates slice across the crease, it explodes.
A low rumble that builds into a roar, echoing off the rafters, rattling straight through my ribs and the steel under my pads.
Feels like electricity.
Feels like home.
The Pit’s packed—standing room only, banners snapping from the upper deck, the kind of night you can smell in your bones.
It’s a divisional game with playoff points on the line.
And my old team? They’re all here for blood.
I flex my left shoulder once, testing the wrap under my chest protector. It’s tight, holding everything in place, but the muscle still sings with that old pain.
A reminder. A warning. A pulse I can’t ignore.
Across the red line, I spot him.
Joshua Leonard.
Same smirk. Same slow, smug circle through warm-ups, coasting in front of the crease like he owns it. Like he owns me.
My jaw tightens behind the mask. I press the blade edge into the blue paint, focusing on my rhythm: shuffle, slide, set. Stay loose. Stay ready.
Jace glides by, tapping the butt of his stick against my pad. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I nod once, eyes locked on the Freeze bench. “I’m good.”
“Keep your head.”
Then he skates off like he’s read enough between the lines.
They announce starting lineups. My name gets the loudest cheer, booming and relentless. Feels like gasoline poured on the fire building in my chest.
I drop into my crease, knees bent, stick out front, glove loose. Joshua’s lined up on the wing for the first draw, but his eyes never leave me. Even from forty feet away I can feel the hiss of his breath through the cage.
The puck drops.
Riley wins it clean, and the play moves up ice. I rock back into the crease, tracking lanes, eyes scanning traffic.
The Freeze are pushing early—dump-and-chase, bodies flying at our D.
They want to test me. Given that they know about my shoulder injury, they’re testing the shoulder as well.
First shot comes low glove. Easy snag. I hold it a beat before the whistle, just long enough to let the crowd cheer.
Flicking it to the ref, I reset.
Second shift, they stack Leonard at the top of the crease, his ass practically on my pads. I shove my blocker into his ribs, clearing space.
He just laughs under his breath. The fucker is trying to bait me.
Not tonight.
Play cycles to the other end. My defense clears. For a while it’s just saves and slides, the normal chaos of hockey.
Riley heckles their goalie from the bench. Cal’s back checking like his life depends on it.
We’re holding.
But Leonard’s circling. Always circling.
I drop into the butterfly for a shot from the point, smother it, and kick the rebound to the corner.
He jabs at my glove after the whistle, a little poke. Just enough to make the crowd boo.
“Easy there,” the ref warns.
Leonard just smirks before leaning closer.
“Didn’t think you’d show your face, Lasker. Figured the whore got to you first.”
I bare my teeth as the words hit like a slash to the gut. Not only because of what he said, but because he said it here.
In my house.
Fucker. I should have beat his ass harder last time.
I grip my stick tighter, pulse pounding against my gloves. Don’t look at him. Don’t flinch. Jace’s voice in my head: Keep your head.
The next few minutes blur. Shots. Blocks. Stick taps.
My shoulder twinges with every push off the post, but I grit through it.
If I leave this game, he wins. And I’m done letting guys like him take things from me.
Midway through the first, it happens.
Puck’s up ice, no whistle. Leonard loops behind my net like he’s on a casual skate. Nobody close. No cameras focused. Then he barrels in—elbow high, full weight—straight into my bad shoulder.
Pain explodes like a flare.
White-hot and ripping through muscle and bone. I slam into the post, mask rattling, vision splintering.
The whistle doesn’t come fast enough.
“Motherfucker!”
It’s Jace—his gloves already off, barreling toward Leonard. Eli’s right behind him. Riley vaults the bench.
Chaos erupts.
I curl over, gripping the post, gasping through clenched teeth. Everything spins. My arm’s numb from the impact, but the burn is deep—old scar tissue tearing, maybe more.
The ref’s yelling. The benches are roaring. Gloves litter the ice like a war zone.
And in the center of it all—Leonard, grinning.
He wanted this. Wanted me out.
The trainers get to me fast. I wave them off, jaw locked. “I’m staying in.”
“Lasker—”
“I said I’m fine.”
Because if I leave, he wins.
I plant my skates back in the crease. Bend. Stretch. Pain flashes but holds. Fine enough.
I glance up toward the owner’s suite, just once. She’s nothing but a shadow behind glass from this far down, but I look anyway.
Part of me hopes she’s watching. The other part hopes she’s not, because this isn’t clean hockey anymore.
Second period starts. Slow crawl of bone and blood. Every movement in net sends a warning shot through my shoulder, nerves singing sharp enough to cut. But I don’t leave.
I won’t.
Leonard skates past again mid-play, but this time he gets clipped. Not by me.
By Jace.
Hard. Legal. Surgical. The kind of hit that’s less about the puck and more about sending a message.
You don’t touch one of ours.
The crowd eats it up.
And it doesn’t stop there.
Eli starts skating tighter circles around Leonard, body checking just a little too close.
Riley throws more heat behind every slap shot like he’s trying to punch holes through their goalie.
Even quiet Cal gets in Leonard’s face after the whistle.
We’re not playing pretty anymore.
We’re playing Vipers hockey.
My kind of game.
They’re doing it for me.
I see it in their eyes when they look at the crease. I hear it in the barked line changes. I feel it in the way every rebound is cleared with violent precision.
This is what a real team looks like.
It takes until the final minutes of the second period, but the payoff comes. Beau slams the puck in from the top of the crease after a cross from Logan.
The crowd loses its mind.
We go ahead. 3–2.
My pulse hammers harder than the scoreboard buzzer. Leonard scowls, jaw tight, and for the first time all night…he looks nervous.
Good.
Win or lose, he’s not walking off this ice with his ego intact.
I drop into position as the puck resets. Pain coils in my shoulder like a vice, but I bare my teeth behind the mask.
He can try to break me.
But I’ve already played hurt.
I’ve already lost the girl.
And I’m still standing.
The third period feels like war.
Bodies fly. Tempers boil, causing gloves to nearly drop more than once.
Leonard continues to circle me like a vulture, but I block out his smirk. The jeers. The subtle nudges.
I’ve dealt with worse.
I’ve survived worse.
My shoulder’s on fire, but I lock in. Square to the puck. Vision tight. Every instinct honed.
And then it happens.
Breakaway. Leonard again. Barreling down the ice like a battering ram. He doesn’t even try to deke. Doesn’t try to finesse. He’s aiming for the kill.
I meet him head-on.
Push out to the top of the crease.
Drop low, pads sealed, glove high.
He rips it glove side. I snare it clean, smother it to my chest, roll back into the butterfly and freeze the puck.
Whistle blows.
The arena erupts.
I stay down for a beat too long. Not because I’m hurt—but because the crowd is roaring my name.
MADDOX. MADDOX. MADDOX.
It crashes down like thunder.
I rise. Slowly. Controlled. Glare at Leonard through my mask. He glares back. Doesn’t say a word. Just skates away.
I look up again, breathing hard behind the cage. I don’t know if she’s still there. Don’t know if she saw me stop him. But I hope she did.
Because tonight, that save? That was for me. But it was also for her.
And for the first time since this season started… I feel it.
Like I belong to this team.
I turn to the bench. Jace is banging his stick on the boards. Eli’s shouting. Riley throws both arms in the air like we just won a Cup. Even Cal’s grinning, tapping his stick against the ice like a drumbeat.
The horn blows minutes later. Final score: 3–2, Vipers.
I don’t throw my gloves. I don’t celebrate like the rookies.
I skate off slow, taking it all in—like it might be the last time.
Because win or not, I know what’s coming.
And if I’m going down…
I’ll go down as a Viper.