Cote launched into action beside him, and together they rocketed across the ice, blades slicing clean through the surface as they surged toward Ottawa’s net. The Conclave defence scrambled to react, but they couldn’t keep up with the speed and seamless coordination of the rush.
Park was close behind, his smooth stride keeping pace with Jett as they closed in. The crowd’s roar swelled, but Jett blocked it out, keeping his eyes locked on the net.
A Conclave defenseman lunged at the last second, aiming a desperate jab toward Jett’s skates. He felt the tug but didn’t stumble. He shifted his weight and spun, his body rotating sharply, putting him in the perfect position.
It was so convincing that Jett would have bought it himself. Obviously, Park did too, since he was already blocking a shot that never came.
Cote’s shot cut through the gap, and the puck sailed past the goalie and slammed into the back of the Conclave net.
The lights lit up with a Sunburst goal, not twenty seconds into the first period.
Jett hollered and bolted to Cote’s side, throwing himself at the kid and nearly taking him to the ice. The rest of the team was on them a second later, clapping their rookie on the back and ruffling his head so hard that his helmet fell off.
“Way to set the fucking pace!” Wolf yelled over the booing crowd. “You see Park?”
Jett followed the others to the bench for celebratory fist bumps, sneaking a glance at the scowling pink-haired man taking a drink at the Ottawa bench.
Oh yeah, he waspissed.
Jett returned to the bench to sit, hydrate, and wipe down, purposely placing himself in front of Harrison at the closest seat to the end, in full sniping range of the Conclave bench. Two panels of glass separated the team benches, creating a space where the game announcer sat in the middle.
Melvin Deveau, whom Jett was familiar with at these Ottawa games, looked pointedly at Jett on his left, and then to Park on the bench closest to his right.
“Play nice,” Harrison reminded him.
Not that he needed to. Jett wasn’t like Ryan or Wolf, who were always looking for a fight.
“That was ballsy,” Park shouted over the cheers. He was standing up so Jett could see him over Rick’s head, shouting to be heard through the glass. “You were gunning so hard for the net, I thought for sure you were taking the shot.”
The puck dropped again, forcing them to pause before they could continue. Jett didn’t take his eyes off the ice. His gaze followed Cormier as they set up the next play, only to have the puck stolen by the Ottawa captain, Damien Holt.
“Funny,” said Jett. “It’s almost like we planned it.”
“Fucking smartass,” said Park. “You’re such a twat, Fraser.”
“Things are heating up on the benches,” Melvin said into his mic. “There’s a lot of chirping between the two alternate captains right now.”
Jett blocked Melvin out as he started listing their stats and talking about the game.
Sometimes it was hard to believe someone as pretty as Su-jin Park could have such a foul mouth and an even fouler temper. Jett couldn’t help but sneak looks at him, taking in those sharp, dark eyes and flawless pale skin. The powder-pink hair should have looked ridiculous, but it suited him. Park looked like he’d stepped straight out of a K-pop music video—he wasthatbeautiful.
If Park were a little taller, he could have made it big as a model, but he was smaller than Jett and had double the attitude of Wolf. He didn’t have enough patience to deal with people and cameras.
Park didn’t have enough patience to deal with hockey players either, but that’s why he was always fighting.
“Are you fuckingdeaf, Fraser?”
“Ask your mom,” Jett shot back. “I had her screaming so loud last night that my ears are still ringing.”
Park made a disgusted face, holding his tongue out like he had swallowed something bitter. “Ah, fuck. You’re fucking nasty.”
Jett smirked. “You asked, buddy.”
Harrison tapped him on the shoulder, and Jett stood, hoisting himself over the boards. His skates hit the ice, and he launched into his shift at full speed. Hellström sent the puck his way, and Jett caught it cleanly, nearly breaking free—until Park closed the distance.
They collided in the corner, fighting for control. Park snarled and slammed a shoulder into Jett’s chest, knocking him off balance just enough to flick the puck to a waiting teammate beyond the scrum.
Now it was Jett’s turn to give chase. He tore after Park, flying across the rink at breakneck speed.
