I ignore him. Win the draw. Skate away.
Every shift we’re out together, he’s talking. Chirping. Saying shit about our system, about me, trying to get someone to snap.
“Must be nice being captain when your team carries you,” he says during another board battle.
I take the hit, win the puck, get it out. Don’t react. Don’t give him what he wants.
The period ends tied 1-1.
We’re all pissed off, bruised, and ready to murder someone.
Barrett doesn’t sit down in the locker room. “That was undisciplined as hell. Martinez is in your heads and you’re letting him win. Be better than him. Play hockey. Win the fucking game.”
He points at Brody. “Keep your gloves on, Carter.”
I lean back in my stall, breathing hard. My ribs hurt where Martinez has been hitting me. My shoulder’s sore from getting slammed into the boards all period.
He’s targeting me specifically. And it’s working.
Second period is worse.
They’re faster, meaner, and they smell blood in the water. Martinez is everywhere—hitting, chirping, pushing every boundary.
Five minutes in, he catches me with an elbow to the head during a scrum. Not quite high enough for a penalty, but enough to make my vision blur for a second.
“You good, Cap?” Rodriguez asks when I get to the bench.
“Fine.”
I’m not fine. My head’s pounding. But I’m not sitting.
Miami scores. 2-1. They’re up.
We tie it when Dex rips one from the point that deflects in. 2-2.
Then everything unravels.
Martinez catches Brody with a late hit behind the play. Brody goes down hard.
The whistle blows, but before anyone can react, Martinez is standing over him.
Whatever he says has Brody up in a heartbeat.
Both drop their gloves and go at it—fists flying, both landing shots. The linesmen try to break it up but Brody’s not stopping. He delivers a hit that snaps Martinez’s head back, then another, and another.
Martinez hits the ice and Brody follows him down. Over the noise I hear him scream.
“Say her name again. I fucking dare you.”
“That’s enough!” The ref’s yelling but Brody gets one more punch in before they pull him off.
Both benches are up. Players from both teams are shoving each other at the red line. The crowd’s screaming.
It’s complete chaos.
“You’re done!” the ref yells at Brody. “Game misconduct!”
“Worth it!” Brody yells back, blood on his knuckles as they escort him off.
