Page 93 of Monstrous Serpent

I skate toward the box, chest heaving, and glance into the stands.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

My little brother has his phone out, recording me, as he jumps up and down, screaming so hard his face is red.

But he’s not the only one.

Fucking Trembley is doing the same, with a goofy, wide, full-face smile that makes him look like a golden retriever who just caught a frisbee.

Great. Just great.

If those two ever meet, I’m done for.

My breath catches.

Nope.

Not happening.

Atlas Trembley will never meet my little brother. Not that he’d want to anyway.

I drop onto the penalty box bench, pull my helmet off, then wipe the sweat from my face. Of course, the ref gives us both five for fighting.

Knight clears the puck out of our zone just as there’s a sharp, heavy thud to my left. I turn and spot Kincaid standing behind Nakagawa. He slams the side of his fist into the glass again, the veins in his neck standing out.

What the hell is he so mad at?

Nakagawa twists around, his eyebrows drawing up, then his whole face lights up while he looks around for a moment before refocusing on Kincaid. “Where’s your pretty goalie? Is he here?”

A muscle in Kincaid’s jaw jumps.

Nakagawa rolls his eyes. “Don't tell me he sent his bodyguards to do his dirty work?”

Whatever the hell that's about, I don't want to know.

Kincaid turns to me, gaze drifting over my face, then he looks back at Nakagawa. He says something, then walks away.

I make the mistake of looking at Nakagawa, who’s staring at me, brow quirked. Not sure what the fuck Kincaid said to him, but that UConn motherfucker better not even start with me, or I’ll go right into that box and beat his ass a second time.

The third period is a grind, but we hold. Knight buries one off a rebound late, and Doyle and I connect on another assist that puts the game out of reach. The final horn sounds, and the arena loses its mind.

We file through the handshake line, and I search the stands. Mom waves and points toward the exit. Dad's already shepherding Davis down the steps, my brother still bouncing.

My eyes drift a few rows over.

They’re gone.

I skate off the ice and make my way to the locker room. Inside, it’s pure chaos, and I can’t help but smile. I put up four points tonight. Best game of my season so far.

Doyle high-fives me as I drop down next to him. “Keep it up, man, and they’re gonna name you First‑Team All‑American.”

“Keep feeding me like that, and they won’t have a choice.”

He removes his chest and elbow pads, tossing them into his stall. “Few of us are hitting a bar on Main. You in?”

“Can't. Family dinner.”

“Your loss.”