They finished the first period with the lead, returning to the locker room covered in sweat and blood.
Jett endured pokes from the medical team, but nothing could be done about a tongue injury. Ryan fared much worse. He had a nasty bruise on his cheek that was more purple every time Jett looked at it.
“I don’t think we could have asked for a better first period,” Harrison said, startling Jett from his thoughts as he spoke from the front of the room. A hush fell, and all attention turned to their coaching consultant, eager to hear what he would say.
Jett hadn’t expected his boyfriend to speak, but that was stupid, seeing as it was Harrison’s job. He couldn’t help but be struck dumb every time he saw Harrison, especially when he looked so good in his tailored suit.
“Park seems to be the only one capable of getting the puck past Powers, so we keep the pressure on him. He’ll look for Cote or Fraser to take the next shot, but we’re switching things up.” His blue eyes landed on Jett. “Fraser, I want you on Park and fighting for the puck, but Bracken will fake and give it to Wolf. It doesn’t need to be flashy, just get it in. That goes for any guy who has a clear shot.”
Wolf chuckled lowly with delight. “He’s not going to like that.”
“That’s his problem,” Harrison said bluntly. “It’s not our fault if we have more talent than one superstar. Every player on the Conclave fights to get the puck to Park because he’s the only one worth a damn on that team. We have tons of guys who can score, but Park focuses on Jett because he thinks he’s the only one he has to worry about. It’s time to humble him.”
“He fucked around and now it’s time to find out,” said Powers.
“Exactly,” said Harrison. “Now take a breath and hydrate. We’re getting two points ahead of them next period.”
There were cheers of agreement and laughter, all of which fell silent when Coach Adams stepped forward to stand beside Harrison. There was a long pause before Coach nodded.
“What he said.”
Cheers erupted again, and Jett joined in, his eyes never leaving Harrison’s smirking face.
Fuck, what was he supposed to be doing again? Puck, net, score?
Win or lose, he was going to climb Harrison like a tree when they made it back to their hotel room. And judging by the look on Harrison’s face, he knew it too.
The second period was more intense than the first. Tempers had gone from boiling over to a raging simmer as they followed the plan laid out by their coaches. Park stayed on Jett’s ass whenever he made a push for the Conclave net, and Holt was pressuring Cote on the other side of the ice.
Two minutes in, Wolf pulled off a quick backhand that swept between the legs of the Ottawa goalie, putting them two points ahead with a score of 3-1.
“You think you’re cool, huh?” Park chirped to Jett when they returned to center ice. “Why don’t you fuck off with the mind games and play hockey?”
“Weareplaying hockey,” Jett snapped back. “It’s not my fault that the Conclaves only have one trump card to play. You’re going to get tired carrying all of them on your back, Park.”
Park spat on the ice, and Jett grinned as he met the Ottawa captain for the puck drop.
“Hello, Jett,” he said cheerfully.
“Having fun, Holt?” Jett asked.
“Always,” said Holt. “Jin is fun to deal with when you guys rile him up. Gives me an excuse to drink after a game.”
Jett could only imagine how miserable it would be keeping Park in line. The guy had to be exhausted.
He lost the face-off, but Cote won the puck back when it was dumped into their zone. They made a series of passes to quickly get aroundthe Conclave defence, which worked until Park bolted forward and caught Bracken’s pass to Jett, and was off.
Jett pumped his legs as hard as he could to catch up, but the Conclave players smothered them the second their star shooter had the puck. He let out a growl of frustration when he saw that Wolf and Powers were left to take on Park by themselves, which ended in another goal for the Ottawa team.
The buzzer blared, and the crowd jumped to their feet, their cheers making it impossible to hear anything else.
Jett returned to the bench, patting Powers on the back for encouragement when he circled near them with a disappointed frown. He lookedcrushed.
“Chin up, Powers,” Bracken said as he skated past his goalie. “We’ll get them back for you.”
Powers nodded and went to his crease without saying a word. Jett felt bad, but he would point out the fact that they weren’t getting slaughtered during their next intermission.
Last time Ottawa had humiliated them—this time they were holding their own.
