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After warm-ups, we have a final session in the locker room with our coaches to go over any final details—things we need to be conscious of improving, things we need to be reminded of about their team, and a good hype speech.
After that, we head back to the ice and go through the fanfare, starting lineups, and the singing of the national anthem before we finally line up for the puck drop at center ice.
My adrenaline is pumping as our sticks hit the ice and the ref blows the whistle, letting us know as long as everyone is lined up properly and not cheating, the puck is dropping. Thankfully, everyone does their job. The black biscuit slaps the ice, and our centers fight to control it.
Kos wins, kicking the puck between his legs backward to Costello, who quickly grabs it. We move into the offensive zone, Costy letting the puck move past the blue line first so that we are onsides with it, and the Sledgehammers don’t have a reason to challenge it if we score. Once Cam passes the blue line, we skate in after him. Costy dishes the puck to Burnsy, who quickly moves it around their defender and takes a shot. Their goalie manages to grab it, and he holds on to it, stopping the play.
Since the goalie froze the play by holding it and not dropping the puck back to the ice, we will face off in our offensive zone. We’re probably nearing the time for a shift change, but we kind of get a quick breather and decide to stay on the ice for right now, probably switching out after this next attempt to score in our zone.
The puck drops, and we win again. Costy and Kos guide their players just where they want them to set Burnsy up. Burnsy is one of the most-talked-about forwards in the league. For God’s sake, he’s only twenty years old and dominating as one of the top scorers in the entire NHL. He’s so fucking smooth with the puck, and he manages to find these tiny pockets that the goalie leaves open.
Their players fall for Kos and Costy’s play, leaving a wide-open lane down the center for Burnsy. Kos slaps the puck to him. Burnsy picks it up, skates forward, and fires, the puck finding the top-left shelf of the net. We are already crashing the net, in case there is a deflection, Burnsy closer to the crease than anyone.
The lamp behind the goalie glows red, and the ref signals a goal!
“Fuck yeah!” I roar across the few feet of ice between us.
I see it happen before it does. The look on their defender’s face is menacing, and his glare is honing in on our baby boy Burnsy.
Fucking try it.
He shoves Burnsy’s back too hard, and I’m between them and in the face of this defender in two strides, our visors nearly touching as I restrain myself from beating his face in.
“Touch him like that again and see what fucking happens,” I spit through my gritted teeth.
“You’re a pussy. You’re not going to do shit,” he chirps back, and I clench my fists in my gloves.
A low and maniacal laugh vibrates through my chest. “I would absolutely love nothing more than to beat your ass tonight.”
The refs skate between us and separate us.
“It’s a date.” He blows me a kiss.
Ignoring him, I turn around and crash into my teammates, giving Burnsy the celebratory attention he deserves.
“Let’s fucking go, boys!” I cheer.
“Thought you were going to fight him there for a second.” Burnsy laughs.
“So did I.” I chuckle as we skate toward our bench and receive our high fives from the team, Burnsy leading the line.
We continue to dominate the ice throughout the first, second, and beginning of the third period. Which is amazing for us and not so amazing for them. With every goal and steal, they are growing angrier and angrier, and I am loving every second of it.
With only two minutes left in the third period, they have no chance of coming back, and they know that. They are pissed off and out for blood.
The same defender who has been begging to meet my bare knuckles is back on the ice for his line shift, and he has this look on his face that clearly says he is up to no good.
He skates out toward center ice, where we are now moving into their zone. Burnsy has the puck. He lights Brett up and smashes him into the boards in a dirty hit, and for a brief second, everything slows down. I flick my gloves off and they bounce off the ice. I guess he really wanted to find out what was going to happen if he did it again. I am happy to oblige.
Picking up speed, I dig my skates into the ice as hard as I can and take off after him. He must hear me coming because he turns around with a smirk on his face. I don’t slow down as I approach him, on the contrary. I continue to get faster, and I barrel into him, grabbing his jersey and dragging him with me. Lifting him up, I slam him as hard as I fucking can into the boards. My fists find his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. Any part of him that I can hurt, I hit.
He’s swinging but missing miserably, and I laugh at him.
“Where’s the tough guy from earlier?” I scoff and continue swinging.
He manages to push his arms between us, locking me at arm’s reach, but it doesn’t matter. Switching gears, I punch him in the ribs and stomach.
“You fucking caught me off guard, you piece of shit!” He swings again and misses again.
