Chapter 16
Beck
Fuck.
Hockey sticks were flying, smashed against the boards, every player, and even the referee. It was a damn free for all after Ford had been hit then tripped on purpose. He’d smashed his head with enough force his helmet had flown off.
I’d been privy to the start of the fight. I’d gone into protective mode, coming out swinging alongside the other players. Within seconds, everyone had rushed onto the ice.
The crowd was booing in the background. There were more than a few fights in the stands. That’s what happened when you had a homecourt advantage.
Ripping off my gloves and tossing them, I flew into the melee, the kick of adrenaline from intense rage on high.
Within seconds, I had the bastard responsible by the neck, squeezing while he fought me with everything he had.
The fight was brutal, fists flying, teeth cracking.
Even a stream of blood flew by my head, landing on the asshole’s face and jersey. The guys on the team were pissed. Granted, I was too, but as soon as the asshole grinned, I could tell the entire scene had been a setup. The bastards had wanted to get under our skin.
I threw up my hands just as the coach’s angry face hit the periphery of my vision.
“Beck. For the love of fuck,” Coach Griffen hissed as he grabbed my jersey, swinging me around. “Calm the fuck down. We can’t have you kicked off the ice.”
I took gasping breaths while still glaring at the asshole. There was no doubt he’d planned the damn attack. Clever asshole.
“That motherfucker was told to board Ford.”
“By whom?”
“The other coach.” I ran my arm across my face, hissing while offering my middle finger.
The coach shook his head. “Did you suddenly have access to a private conversation?”
As soon as I opened my mouth, he arched a brow.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Yeah, I’d overheard the conversation just before the third period had started, but no human could have heard a damn thing. Instead of trying to stall the game, I’d thought I could handle the asshole myself.
I’d been wrong.
“You know how I heard the conversation,” I shot back, trying to locate my brother through the continued chaos. He’d been taken off the ice.
The coach swung around to check out the stands before skating me backward and away from the others. “Do you want me to tell the referee you heard a plot from halfway across the arena? Now?”
What in the hell was I supposed to do? I wasn’t allowed by NHL rules, the ones that had been revised after shifters were allowed into the league to use a single wolf attribute.
Not one. The damn humans didn’t understand we had more ethics in our little fingers than most of them did in their big brains.
“Fine. No.”
He appeared relieved, blowing hot air. “You need to get your head on straight. Okay? We can still win this game.”
“Not without Ford.”
“Yeah, we can. You know more about their center than anyone on any team. You know exactly what he’s going to do.”
I realized what the coach was saying. If we were lucky enough to score a point, it would come down to Jersey Mike, as the center for the Las Vegas Cruisers was called, to do his trick.
He was the best in the business at acting as if he’d made an attempt to steal a puck then frustrated when he couldn’t, only to fake out the other players.
The problem was he switched it up every time he tried and goalies usually weren’t ready.
This boy would be.
Fuck them.
“Just make sure the puck doesn’t get through. We have a game to win. That’s what Ford would want. Plus, we don’t need any bad press. You know this team is gunning for us to prove their point.”
Their point being that shifters were a bad idea all the way around. Their bad attitudes came from the owner of the team, who I’d heard was highly discriminatory against shifters existing in any society, let alone being allowed on sports teams.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“Don’t let them rile you,” Coach Griffen urged. “They are going to try. They want you angry.”
When I adjusted my neck, the loud popping sound made his eyes open wide. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can and you fucking will.”
After taking another deep breath, I nodded. But damn it if I didn’t have the taste of blood in my mouth. We’d win the game. Period.
Then I’d kill the motherfucker who’d put us in this position.
He stormed off, leaving me only a few feet away from the grinning son of a bitch. The jerk even beckoned me with his hands.
Don’t do it. Just walk away.
As soon as I turned my back, I heard a loud crack and I was pushed by members of both teams. Things started to get out of hand and I was the one trying to break up the fight.
When I finally reached the center of the mound of players, I noticed a gash on the asshole’s face. Even his breathing was rough, his nose mashed, no doubt broken. Christ, the testosterone was running high.
“Shit,” I roared. “We need a medic. Parker is down.”
Brent Parker, ‘the Bronco,’ the very asshole who’d purposely taken a twig to my brother, would soon have a shiny black eye to match his cracked lip and cut on his cheek. And the asshole appeared to be unconscious.
“Damn it,” I told the closest team members. Fights were one thing, but the captain was right in that we didn’t need any bad press.
It took more than the allotted time to calm everyone down, but my blood remained boiling. While Ford had given a wave indicating he’d be fine, he was seething like I was.
“Give it your best shot, beast,” an opposing player yelled and I went after him. The only reason I didn’t beat the crap out of him was my eye catching sight of Sloane.
She was standing with the team, the look on her face pleading with me to calm down.
I nodded, hoping she would understand I was fine. Fuck. The opposing team really was going to use anything they could to win the game.
All she had to do was smile and something washed over me. Not quite peace but an emotion close enough that I was able to focus. I skated closer, giving her a slight bow.
The crowd went wild. So what if they figured out there was something between us?
I did a little dance on the ice to the delight of those paying attention. It was also sent as an entirely different type of warning. I dared the Vegas boys to fuck with us again.
As soon as I moved into position, I slowly allowed all sound around me to cease.
The period began.
While the Vegas boys weren’t eager for us to make a goal, Jason Bragg, a man on our team called ‘the Annihilator’ for a reason, developed fire in his belly. More so than he’d displayed at any recent practice.
When he scored, the entire arena was on their feet, stomping as they did when their team was on fire. We had momentum, the defense doing their best to keep Jersey Mike from stealing the puck. But true to form, he came out of nowhere with a minute on the clocks.
And the game of superiority began in earnest.
The kid skated brilliantly, avoiding our guys with a vengeance than could only be described as a violent dance performed to a concerto. I had my eye on him, not paying attention to the damn clock. But I didn’t need to, the crowd counting down for us.
I’d give the guy credit. He waited until the perfect time, obviously paying attention to how I handled every deflection. If there was any weakness to me, it was from the far left. Only this time, I’d been prepared, figuring what he’d do.
After acting as if I wasn’t going to deflect, I took a dive toward the puck while everyone was holding their breath.
When I slammed against the ice, skidding forward by several yards, the fans let me know I’d been successful.
There was complete pandemonium in the stadium. Players swept the ice, throwing their twigs and pitching their arms into the air. Within seconds, I was hoisted up by several feet, the team’s cheers full of happiness.
When I was finally dropped back to my skates, the congratulations continued for a full five minutes until it was time to take a short victory lap.
Even as I did, I searched for the woman who had been on my mind every day one too many times. I found her in the tunnel, celebrating with the other team members.
As I approached, skating slowly, she sensed I was heading in her direction. The way she turned toward me, a smile slowly sliding across her shimmering face was exactly what I needed to see.
She cocked her hip while shaking her head in a way that told me she had wicked things on her mind. Well, hell, I did too.
“You cheated.” The words were ones I’d heard before, but that didn’t mean they didn’t grow old. Especially after the rough game we’d had.
“You’re just a sore loser,” I said in response, doing my best to ignore the huge defenseman. He was reported to be close friends with Bronco and son of the owner. Go figure.
Sloane offered a look, slowly shaking her head.
“All you animals should be hunted and killed for a real sport.”
I still managed to almost walk away.
“Yeah, I need your head as a trophy on my wall for what you did to Bronco. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
That was it. What kind of bullshit did they think they were playing?
My reaction was all based on my wolf. I was in his face in a flash, but in a true surprise, so was Sloane.
“Don’t do it, Beck. That’s what this… player wants, for you to hit him on national television. He’s not worth it.”
Somehow, she’d even managed to crowd the space between us, making herself known and it impossible for me to punch him in the face with her standing in the way.
“Backing down to a woman, Kendrick?” His voice was gruff but full of amusement.
The woman responsible for some dark fantasies was giving me the evil eye.
I laughed and backed away. “She’s right, Walter Junior. You’re not worth it. I have much better things to do.” If there was one thing the dude hated, it was to be called by his given name.
His father’s name.