BETTSY
I’ve hated no one as much as I do right now.
Hate’s a strong word, but right now it’s running so deeply, my blood burns through my veins.
All I can see is Rick Langdon’s ugly face out of the corner of my eye through the glass dividing the home and away benches. He’s grimacing at me as if he’s ready to rip my head off—which only adds to my fury because if anyone’s doing any ripping, it’s me.
“Do you think I could take him?” I ask Hutch.
I move closer to him so I can gesture towards Langer without making a big deal of it. But Hutch likely knew who I was talking about anyway, since all I’ve done for the past year is plot revenge on a dirty hit Langdon forced upon me last season.
It just so happens that I’ve been doing a tremendous job of maintaining a little self-control, but tonight, I’m feeling in the mood for a fight.
Hutch studies me for a second before leaning forward to get a better look at Langer. He flicks his eyes between us several times, sizing us both up before giving me his answer.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says. “He’s about the same size as you—or actually, maybe he’s a little bigger. I can’t tell with the pads … so maybe not.”
“Nah, you got it right the first time. We’re about the same size, only difference is, I have better aim.” My voice is full of confidence, but I’m pretty sure Hutch is right—Langdon is carrying more bulk than me.
Hutch shrugs, shifting his attention back to the game I should be watching too, but I’m busy stewing on the animosity I have for Langdon, the reason threefold .
Not only did he ruin my summer, but he also plays for my least favourite team in the league—my old junior team. But this is me being a sore loser, because when I reached my time to progress upward to pro, they didn’t want to sign me because I wasn’t good enough.
That shit stings like a motherfucker.
I haven’t been able to say their team name ever since, nor bring myself to wear anything that resembles their team colours.
Finally, there’s one spot for a defenceman on Team GB and both Langer and I want it.
“Fuck, did you see that?” Hutch says, jabbing me in the ribs. But I’m still fixed on the home bench, seething over the fact that Langdon has more teeth than I do, something I can probably rectify if I aim high enough. “Betts?”
“Sorry, I’m just?—”
Wham.
The glass directly opposite shakes as Danny takes a second hit.
He skates away a second later with the puck, unphased.
“We need to pull back that goal,” Hutch says, casting his eyes to the jumbotron.
He’s right.
We’re down a goal and we need these two points a win will give us.
Two points.
These two points will put us in a position above them and with only a handful of games left in the season, we need all we can get. They’re last year’s league winners too, which makes the hate burn just that much stronger.
The truth is, I’ve been simmering on a high heat ever since Ellie showed up at my place last week, and now I’m looking for any excuse to let off a little steam.
Not only have I spent all my free time desperately trying to piece together the events of that day, but I’ve been trawling the internet looking for anything relating to weddings in Denmark.
And I’m not sure if Ellie knows, but that video she showed me wasn’t the only one.
There’re several. And I’ve watched every single one of them multiple times, even debating whether to reach out to the authors and ask more questions.
I didn’t. I can’t.
I guess I’m still living in denial of my own stupidity.
“I think I can take him,” I say, quickly concluding that Langer’s face would be an ideal target for my pent-up anger.
But Hutch isn’t listening. He’s busy watching our defensive zone, just as the home crowd roars as another goal sails in for them.
“You know what? Maybe we need the energy.” Hutch tightens his jaw as he looks up at the scoreboard. “Just pick your moment.”
I shift in my spot, leaning forward to focus on the game as the play resets. I need to forget about Ellie for now, because there’s no way I’m going to keep my focus if I let myself wallow.
Johnny’s shift is over, and I track his movement across the ice, keen for him to get back so I can take advantage of the minute we’ll have to chat while our third defensive pair play a shift.
The door swings open, and he steps off the ice. Hutch disappears and I shuffle up so Johnny can sit himself on the very end of the bench, making it his turn to exchange glances with my favourite person.
“That wasn’t my best effort,” he says. “We need to connect our passes—this could go sour pretty quickly if we don’t take control. But we need to think about the next goal. That’s all.”
Typical Johnny.
I study him for a moment before deciding now is the right moment to test the waters, so to speak.
“Do we need to up the energy?” I ask, letting my focus slip to Rick Langdon for a second.
Johnny notices straight away, angling himself so he blocks off my view of the opposing bench.
“Please don’t get any ideas … Ke l?—”
“I know, I know,” I say, my jaw tightening.
My sister, Kelly, is here tonight—not for me, but for Johnny.
Since they’re trying to make a proper go of things, she’s been coming to games to show her support for his dreams or whatever, but the catch is, Kelly hates fighting, and Johnny knows it all too well.
So, if she thinks he’s encouraged me to get into a brawl, she’ll give us both hell—which means I’ll end up getting crap from them both.
I’m not sure I want the hassle.
“We need to focus on our next goal,” Johnny says again. “Because it’s?—”
The sound of rubber hitting metal sails through the air, paired with a collective groan from the crowd as one of the twins sends a shot a little too high.
“Of all the teams we play against … you know I don’t enjoy losing to these.” My tone is sharp. Every single iota of rage I have for them shining through.
I lean forward to get another look at Langdon, but Johnny follows my movement and blocks my view. He frowns, reaches for a bottle and squirts a stream of water into his mouth.
“I know you’re holding a grudge, but please just let it go,” he says.
“He cost me my summer job,” I snap. “And he’s one of them … I’d say he owes me a few grand. But I’d settle for teeth in this instance … and maybe just a little blood.”
Johnny stares at me indignantly. “For the love of …”
Luckily for me, the left D-man from our third pair rolls home and I take my cue, standing up and taking a seat on the shelf briefly.
“I mean it, Betts. Play safe, because fighting aside, you don’t need any more penalty minutes. Think of your prospects and consider who you’re up against.”
He’s referring to my opportunity to make the Team GB roster and the fact that training camp starts on Monday.
Or at least I hope it does. I’m still waiting for the GM to ‘have a word with me’, which, according to Vicky, will be when he decides he wants to—something I knew was coming sooner rather than later.
Instead of throwing Johnny a flippant comment in return, I take in his words because I know he’s right.
I hop onto the ice and break out into a burst of power towards my position on the blueline. I come to a halt, receiving a pass from one of the twins—I can’t tell which—before sailing it across to my right pair, Yatesy, just as a shoulder nudges my own, pushing me right into the boards.
I know who it is without seeing his offensive jersey.
Fucking Langdon.
“What the hell do you want?” I murmur.
He grins at me for a second before skating away and because the play moves over to the opposite side of the ice, I follow his lead, hot on his trail as I mark him, poking at the toe of his stick as the puck shifts into his possession briefly.
It frees enough to give me an opportunity, sailing it over to the forward waiting in front of the net who fires it towards Greer, the opposing netminder, but he makes an easy save, causing the stripes to whistle up and reset the play.
Greer is decent. Another Brit who joined their roster last season after his stint on the national team upped his skill-set and made him a strong contender against the import goalies most teams go for—our team included.
And Greer may be my soon-to-be teammate, but today, he’s the enemy and I’m focusing in on his position so I can play the puck appropriately.
I skate towards my position behind the face-off when the ref calls Danny in for a quick chat.
That’s when I spot Langer skating towards me. He makes out like he’s going to sail right past, but he bumps my shoulder hard, almost shoving me over.
“Feeling nervous?” I taunt. “Because we both know we’re teasing you by giving you a lead.”
Langdon smirks .
“Nervous? You’re kidding, right? You couldn’t score on an empty net … and just because you have Jedward on your team … it means shit.”
He’s referring to the Preston twins—our ex-NHL contingent. Even they know hockey is a team sport, and they alone can’t win us any silverware.
Langdon, though—I’ve got to give it to him—forces a genuine laugh from me, but I keep it back, determined not to let him have the last word.
“You’re a liability. All talk and no action … how many shots have you blocked with your face this season, Langer? Wait … I don’t think…”
There’s a whistle from the ref in the distance, but I tune it out since Langdon is in my ear, chuckling softly—taunting me.
Jani, our first line centre, moves in to take the face-off.
I ignore the calls for me to get into position as I shove Langer hard with my shoulder, causing him to twist on the spot.
He pushes me so violently into the boards with the shaft of his stick, it snaps in half, causing the crowd to erupt into cheers.
“C’mon Betts, let’s see who’s better then? Or is this about the prelim roster? Because we both know there’s only one defensive spot,” he spits, making it really fucking hard for me to say no.
But there’s nothing stopping me from drawing a penalty.
I have every confidence that I can force a bigger reaction from Langer by not reacting at all. I know how these types of guys work because I’m one of them.
It takes another ten seconds of me smirking back at him for him to throw a punch, right into my cheek. But the pain that shoots through my face is a small price to pay for Langer getting two minutes in the box for instigating.
And I’m so fucking proud of myself for not punching him back.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” I call as he’s carted to the penalty box.
And given my upcoming chat with the GM, I hope to Christ I’m right.