Page 78 of Her Player

“Yes, sir!” the locker room barked in unison.

His voice rose with us. “So, what do we do?”

I thrust my stick into the air. “See a puck, sink a puck!”

Jett stood to his feet and clapped his hands. “See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck!”

I stood, chanting with him. “See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck!”

And soon, Coach clapped to the rhythm of our chanting as the entire team stood to their feet, thrusting their sticks into the air and yelling at the top of their lungs.

“See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck! See a puck! Sink a puck!”

The phrase grew faster and faster until we beat on the metal doors of the lockers with a fervor I’d never heard in us before. In the three years I’d been on this team, in the two years since I’d been their captain, I’d never heard us so ready. I’d never heard us so pumped. I’d never heard us so confident.

Coach bellowed over our heads. “Now, let’s get out there and show them what we can do when our city stays loyal to us!”

We made our way out to the rink in a single file line, geared up and ready to go. I barely remembered the New York Bulldogs being introduced. I mean, I registered the heat of the fire. I registered the firing of the confetti guns. My eyes swept over the teenage boys on the ice, shooting t-shirt cannons into the packed-out crowd.

Then the announcer turned to us.

“Hah, hah, HAAAH!” Jett exclaimed as he clapped his gloved hand against my back. “Let’s fucking go, guys! Let’s fucking goooooo!”

The entrance for our team moved in a blur. I focused when my name was called, skating out onto the ice and making my backwards journey around the rink just to wave at everyone. People who came to rally around the Bulldogs booed and put their thumbs down into the air. Our people cheered over them, whipping t-shirts around in the air with their faces painted and our signed jerseys on their backs.

I swear to hell on high, it felt like a fucking professional game.

No wonder Coach missed this shit.

Then, as the team gathered on the bench on our side of the ice, I sheered off a small layer of it as I came to a stop in front of all them.

“All right!” I exclaimed, getting over the announcer over the loudspeaker. “This is it! This is our moment! So we leave it all out on the ice. Good. Bad. Anger. Happiness. Frustration. Elation. Whatever it is you’re feeling?! You leave it the fuck out there and you don’t look back!”

The team slammed their sticks into the floor as the pregame stuff rolled around. Everything moved in still-life images as I scanned the VIP booths searching for that face. That figure. Those downturned lips and that furrowed brow she always got whenever she concentrated. And when I spotted Victoria in her booth, standing there, peering down at us with her arms crossed over her chest?

Everything focused back in, moving in slow motion as I skated into position.

The roar of the crowd faded away. I crouched down, my stick only inches away from my rival. Jett stood off to my side, already talking about someone’s fucking mom as I stood there, staring into the dark, black eyes of my opponent. These men were much spindlier than the Detroit Pirates. More like Jett, built for speed and stealth, not strength.

I’d have to find a way to make up for it.

The official held the puck up in the air. I watched in slow motion as the man’s fingers retracted, the rubber puck dropping to the ice. I watched as it tumbled through the air. I watched as it smacked against the ice.

Then I heard Jett’s voice rise above the cacophony.

“You gonna be like tampons, baby!” he exclaimed. “Only good for one fucking period, hah, HAAAH!”

And the second I saw the man’s eyes in front of me flicker toward him, I took my chance.

I scooped the puck up against my stick and pushed my blades off to the left, shooting me behind Jett as quickly as possible. The crowd went wild, chanting my nickname from the stands.

STONE! STONE! STONE! STONE!

Which only made the pass between his legs even better when the opposing team thought the crowd was chanting because I had the puck.

The only thing I focused on was the puck. Coach barked out orders. He yanked men off the ice and shoved others from the bench onto it. He switched his plays as quickly as he switched his players, no doubt trying to throw the other team off.

Jett worked his distractive magic.