Page 62 of Monstrous Serpent

Shaw slides off the wall, plants himself at the top of the crease, shoulders squared to the goalie.

I spot a lane, shift my weight, and rip a low shot through Shaw’s legs.

The puck threads through the traffic, kisses off a UConn stick, and changes just enough. Their goalie drops late, glove flashing.

Too slow.

The puck beats him inside the post and rattles the back bar.

The horn blares a second later.

Shaw crashes into me, cackling and grabbing the top of my helmet with both hands. “How did you even see that? Are your eyes different from regular human eyes? I want to know. Tell me.”

I tap his helmet. “Lucky shot.”

He continues to laugh as I peel him off me and shove him toward the bench, following behind. Hunter glides over, and we tap gloves.

We hop over the boards, and I drop down beside him, his thigh pressed against mine. I grab a water bottle, squeezing it too hard, and half the liquid goes on my face instead of in my mouth. “He blocked us.”

Hunter grunts.

“Really? That’s it. Did you see the picture? Someone had their lips on him. There was cum. He fucking came from someone else sucking his dick.”

“I know.”

My knee bounces, eyes tracking the game but not seeing it. “You think it was some rando or one of his teammates? Because I swear, man, that whole team is like a fucking dating show. And now Jenkins is passing his dick around like a goddamn participation trophy.”

“Enough.”

“Nope. I’m going to find out who it was and surgically remove their lips from their face. I’ll let Shaw cut their tongue out. And then I’ll burn it all and piss on it to put the fire out.”

My pulse kicks harder.

I want to find the guy. I want to know what he looks like, then I’ll make sure he doesn't look like that anymore. And I want Jenkins to watch when it happens, so he understands exactly who he belongs to.

Hunter’s hand rests on my knee, and he squeezes. “They’ll be back from Boston tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“We’ll pay him a visit.”

Yeah, we will.

“Trembley. Kincaid. You’re up,” Coach Reed barks.

We hop over the boards, and I'm back on the ice with the third line. Offensive-zone draw, which honestly is exactly what I need right now. If Cap wins this back, it's coming to me at the point, and all I have to do is catch it, drag it, and rip it. No overthinking. Just shoot the puck and stop seeing that fucking photo every time I blink.

I take my spot on the blue, toes over the line, eyes on the circle. Their weak-side winger is already cheating high, stick half turned toward the other end like he's planning his breakout before the puck even drops.

Yeah, okay, dude. Good luck with that.

UConn wins possession and pulls the puck behind their net. The defenseman wheels weak side, hits their center low, and swings up and out through the neutral zone.

“Middle!” I back off the blue, tracking their winger as he cuts inside.

Hunter steps up at the red line and just fucking detonates the guy. Shoulder first, full speed, no hesitation. Their winger sprawls across the center ice logo and slides on his back.

Shit.