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I snort and let it go for now.
Coach tosses a puck out to me, calls the name of the play, and blows his whistle to begin. The scout team, led by No Name, drifts into defensive position as we get going.
I wing a pass to Marcus, who returns it back to me. Then I whip one across the ice to Bastian.
From here, he’s supposed to keep it until I get near the goalie. With the other side focused on him, he’ll drop it off fast to me. I shoot, I score, game over.
Simple, right? Really, really simple.
Except when Bastian gets the puck, he doesn’t dump it to me like he’s supposed to. Instead, he goes full hero mode and tries to take an audacious shot from a ridiculous angle. To no one’s surprise, the scout team goaltender snags it out of the air no problem.
“Get your head out of your ass, Bastian!” I roar as we skate to get back while the second and third lines run through the same play.
“Fuck off, Dalton,” he grumbles back.
I’m heated now. I skate right up the son of a bitch and shove him hard in the chest. It’s satisfying to watch his arms windmill in the air for a second to keep from falling flat on his ass.
He’s back in my face as soon as he rights himself. “The fuck’s your problem?” he breathes.
“My problem? My problem is that we’ve done that play a thousand times and you fuck it up. What’s your problem?”
He scoffs, shoving me away from him. “You ain’t Coach. I don’t gotta answer to you.”
“Yo, you two, chill out!” someone yells.
I sneer. Fuck. That.
“Listen, dickhead, you’re lucky you’re still even on the starting line. You keep screwing up plays like that and you won’t even be keeping the bench warm next year.” Fire lights up in Bastian’s eyes. He starts to get up in my face one more time, but before he can get a word out, I grimace. “Can’t you at least brush your teeth if you’re gonna get up on me like you’re tryin’ to kiss, princess?”
Bastian snarls and punches me in the side of the helmet, grunting like a wildebeest.
“Oh, was that supposed to do something?” I taunt.
“Guys…” comes that warning voice again. Marcus, I think.
The others surround us in a tighter circle. Brawls on the practice ice are rare but not unheard of. The issue is that, when it comes to me and Bastian, things tend to get bloody. It’s not the first time we’ve gotten into it, and it probably won’t be the last.
So I don’t see why I need to stop.
“You know what I think, princess?” I ask, skating a lazy backward circle around Bastian. “I think you’ve been mad ever since you got benched during the playoffs last year, and you’re making it everyone else’s problem.” I smirk. “But it isn’t my problem that you don’t know how to do your fucking job. I figured by now you’d have seen enough of me doing it better to figure some things out. Some guys are just slow learners, I guess.”
“You motherfucker!” Through the cage of his facemask, Bastian’s nostrils flare. He digs into the ice and charges me. He’s on me a little faster than I anticipated, but I still get my stick in the way and block him, so he glances off me a bit.
He’s a heavy bastard, though. There’s muscle under those pads.
He turns and charges again. This time, I catch him with an uppercut under the chin. His helmet pops off. Blood spatters onto the ice.
“You wanna keep going, bitch?—”
Roaring, he’s on me again immediately. We go down to the ice in a tangle of limbs, sweating and swearing and throwing fists and elbows anywhere we can land them. I feel my nose crack under his fist.
Someone yells for Coach. Whistles start blaring. It’s not until there’s half a dozen pairs of hands on my shoulders and more around my middle that me and Bastian are finally dragged apart.
“Enough. Enough! ENOUGH!”
We’re tossed in opposite directions. Panting, snarling, wild animals in hockey gear. I lunge back at him, not ready to be done, but a firm hand plants on my chest and stops me in my tracks.
It’s Marcus. He shakes his head with a weary look on his eyes. “Come on, Reese. Be done with it.”
