Jett would miss having him on his left, but he would see him during the power play where they would hopefully kick ass.
The anthems ended, and Jett did a loop while waiting for the whistle. The music in the Florida arena wasloud, but Jett liked the enthusiasm of the fans. He didn’t notice the Florida captain was close until he was tapping his stick on the ice to get Jett’s attention.
Josh Campanelli’s smile was more akin to a sneer. The guy had vibrant blue eyes and a handsome face, but there was something about him that always sent off danger warnings in Jett’s mind.
Other than the fact that he was a homophobe.
“Welcome back, princess. We were worried Toronto would be a normal team with you gone, and then we would have to respect them.”
AKA: Normal because their token gay player was gone.
He was such a dick. Jett was happy he didn’t know enough about Cote to turn his hatred against him as well. The kid didn’t need that.
“Settle down, Nickelodeon,” Jett chirped. “Where’s Drake? He normally stops you from acting stupid—and you’re pushing the line of discrimination, buddy.”
Campanelli sneered for real this time, his features twisting into something ugly. “What the fuck are you rambling about, Fraser?”
“You don’t have kids?” Jett asked, giving him a winning grin.
“No,” Campanelli growled. “But at least I’m man enough to fuck a girl and have them if I want.”
When Jett laughed—mostly in disbelief—Campanelli spat on the ice and sped off to meet Bracken at center ice.
Jett was still chuckling when he took his position, which pissed off Florida’s right wing, earning him a shoulder shove when the refs weren’t watching. It stung, but Jett ignored it.
“Keep your fucking shoulders to yourself, Forbes,” Wolf called, ignoring the whistle when the refs immediately tried to settle things down.
“Cute,” said Forbes. “You all jump in to protect your little wifey.”
When Wolf smiled, Jett moved the fuck out of the way.
Gloves came off on both sides. Forbes tried to go in for a cheap shot, but Wolf grabbed his sweater and yanked him so hard he missed, and then punched him in the mouth.
The fans were on their feet screaming, and the thrum of sticks against boards lit up the arena. Jett knew it was going to be like this when he came back. Florida hated Toronto on a good day, but there was something deeper behind the aggression tonight, and he knew it was about him.
Forbes stood no chance. He was barely six feet on skates, and Wolf was easily six five and filled with rage. He punched the guy until blood started splattering, and then the refs were blowing whistles and jumping in.
When Forbes hit the ice and Wolf was still hammering him, the Florida goalie came out and paced around the red line, Powers left his net too and started gliding forward.
Everyone was on edge. Jett was surprised Bracken hadn’t clocked Campanelli in the face yet, but they couldn’t lose him after puck drop to sit in the bin.
Forbes and Wolf were separated and thrown into the bins, still chirping at each other through the glass. Forbes was holding a bloody cloth to his face and refusing to see medical, and Wolf was holding up his torn knuckles to proudly show them off, which started another round of verbal arguments.
“Can I fight him?” He heard Powers ask as the Florida goalie, Mason Shepherd, continued to taunt him from the other side of the red line.
The refs were yelling at them to get into position, so Bracken shook his head, and Powers slumped and returned to his net.
“You should let him fight someday,” Jett said, cringing when the crowd screamed as the footage of the fight replayed. “Everyone loves a goalie fight.”
“And let him get hurt?” Bracken readjusted his gloves, looking appalled. “I could never do that.”
“Okay, next time we have Rose in the net, you better not stop him.”
Their second goalie was older and close to retirement, but he had been in a scrap before. When he wasn’t passing down his knowledge of how to stop a puck to Powers, he was giving him tips on how to win a fight.
“Bracken! Center ice now or you’re getting a penalty for game delay.”
Bracken let out an exaggerated sigh before rolling his eyes all the way to the face-off circle. He dropped into position, tapping his stick impatiently as the official finally dropped the puck.
