Pain exploded through his body, making his vision darken briefly. Adrenalin had him scrambling back to his feet faster than his brain could process what happened. He heard a whistle blow over the ringing in his ears that nearly deafened him.
“Jett!”
Bracken was on him, bracing against Jett in case he needed to lean on him. A fight had broken out, and all the whistling and cheering were loud enough to make him dizzy.
Fuck, what had even happened?
He caught sight of Cote in the middle of the fight, looking to draw blood from Barzetti, who was standing far away from all the commotion as it unfolded. That didn’t seem right because Cote wasn’t a fighter.
“Why is Niko so mad?”
And why did talking make his body hurt? Jett pressed a hand to his shoulder and hissed when the contact made it throb.
“He’s mad because Hersey tripped you, and you hit the fucking wall. Are you okay?”
Jett rolled his shoulder slowly, but it only felt bruised. “I’m great, but it still doesn’t explain why Niko is trying to kill Barzetti and not Hersey.”
Bracken scoffed. “It’s because Barzetti was the only one he could reach.”
“Fraser, you need a medic?” A ref asked, skidding to a stop in front of him. “You should go get looked at during the commercial break.”
Jett shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s just bruised.”
The ref didn’t look convinced, but he signalled to the others, and one of them took center ice. A penalty was called against Hersey for tripping, putting the Sunbursts on the power play.
“You should go to the bench—”
“No.” Jett shrugged Bracken off and headed to the Barbarian’s zone. “Get me the fucking puck. I owe Hersey one.”
Nice guy or not, Jett would make sure he paid him back for the trip.
When the two minutes on the timer ran out, Jett got into position, ignoring everything else around him except the space between him and the net.
Bracken won his third face-off of the night, and before any of them took a breath, the puck was touching the blade of Jett’s stick.
A well-aimed, simple shot had rubber flying through the air, right into the space above the goalie’s shoulder.
No buzzer for them, but Sunburst fans in the audience jumped to their feet, and Jett was crowded by his team on the ice. Their love hurt his bruised shoulder, but he laughed and accepted it all before skating over to the bench to get celebratory first bumps from the guys.
“Fraser, shift over!” Harrison snapped. “Get your ass on the bench.”
Jett smiled brightly at his boyfriend, but did as he was told. He knew Harrison was terrified after seeing him go down like that, so he didn’t want to provoke him into benching him for the rest of the period.
When the game started again, Jett immediately noted the change in the mood. The plays became rougher, and some guys on the Barbarians started making dirty hits.
When Wolf took an elbow to the cheek that wasn’t called, he could tell this wouldn’t be an easy win for them after all.
The buzzer sounded to signal the end of the first period, and Jett breathed a sigh of relief as he headed for the chute. It had been a rough go of it, and Jett’s shoulder was throbbing along with his racing pulse.
He didn’t get far when Coach flagged him down, looking sharp in his dark blue suit, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“How’s your shoulder?”
Jett grimaced. “I’m going to ice it, but it’s fine.”
“Make sure the med team has a look at it. But before that, the media wants an interview.”
Coach Adams led him to where a brunette woman stood in a pantsuit with a cameraman behind her. She was checking her face in a compact mirror, snapping it shut as he approached, running a hand over her jacket to smooth it down as she gave him a lizard-like grin of excitement.
