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“What?” Darren demanded angrily. “Him?”
Both coaches ignored him. Coach Veraldi was talking to the linesmen, discussing strategy. The head coach was in conversation with the owner again, who’d come back down.
“NO!” Darren cried. “NO FUCKING WAY!”
“I think you’re out, son,” one of the refs said. He put a hand on his shoulder to guide him to the open door. “Now get off the—”
All of sudden, everything seemed to happen at once.
Darren shrugged off the ref who’d touched him, then spun away. He ripped off his mask and flung it full-speed across the ice…
… right toward the back corner, where the owner’s three kids were skating in a shaky, uncertain circle.
The crowd gasped. The referee screamed. The mask skidded past the icing line and bounced right into the little girl’s knees, totally taking her out. She fell face-forward, one hand still clutching her brother’s hand, the other held out before her, trying desperately to break her fall.
I was over the boards and on the guy before she even hit the ice.
“FUCKER!”
The goaltender’s horrified expression didn’t even have time to turn to fear. I tackled him dead-center, sprawling him backwards, hurling him to the ice. Shrugging my blocker off I straddled his body and began punching him repeatedly in the face, heedless of what might happen to me, regardless of whether or not I would still be on the team, or in the back of a police car by the end of the night, or whatever. The only thing that mattered was making him pay. Erasing the frightened look on the little girl’s face from my mind, by punishing this careless brat the only way I knew.
I don’t remember being pulled off him, but eventually I was. Darren was on his knees, coughing profusely, spitting out his bloody mouthguard. Nobody paid him any attention, though. Everyone was huddled around the crying little girl, who by now had been picked up by the team’s furious owner.
“You probably should get the hell out of here before the police show up.”
I stiffened at the sound of coach Veraldi’s voice behind me. My shoulders slumped.
“Not you, kid. Him.”
He pointed at Darren, as the rest of the team gathered around me.
“You’re finished,” he told the goaltender. “We’ll pack out your locker for you, just leave.”
A blood-bubble broke between Darren’s lips as he attempted to speak. “But—“
“Leave the building before I call security,” the assistant coach snapped.
The goalie stood up on shaky legs. “Coach, listen!” he said pleadingly. “I didn’t—“
“NOW!”
Someone from the team hit him in the face with his own thrown glove. Another grabbed the goalie’s stick and shoved it butt-first into his midsection. Darren was crying now, utterly miserable. He skated off just as someone else shoved him, exiting the ice on the opposite end of the arena.
Eventually the crowd of people dispersed, and people began filing off the ice. The owner walked off holding his daughter over his shoulder, the head coach beside him. He was patting her on the back as they went.
“She’s okay,” one of the refs said, skating over. “A little rattled, but she didn’t hit her head or anything.”
The whole team and I nodded, relieved. “Good.”
“You ready?”
The ref pointed at the empty crease. I looked back at coach Veraldi, who nodded.
“You’re all ours now, kid,” he said, raising an approving eyebrow. “I mean, in all likelihood, you were already going to be. But now it’s official.”
Official.
Hands were clapping me on the back — multiple hands. What felt like a dream sure seemed like an abrupt reality. Especially with all the blood and adrenaline still pumping through me.
