Page 192 of Play Dirty

Good.

“Left side — watch the trailer!” I barked, pivoting at the blue line.

Ares answered first.

He crushed their winger along the boards, clean and hard, the kind of hit that echoed. The puck popped loose, and Sebastian was already calling the next play from the crease, calm as ever.

The crowd roared.

Not all of it for us.

I heard it then — the split. Half the arena in Reavers colors. The other half?

Sentinels.

Loud, confident, braggadocious. Like they owned this place.

Good.

Let them think that.

I took the outlet pass and turned up ice, cutting through the center as bodies collapsed toward me. For a second — just one — my eyes flicked up.

Bench.

Glass.

Her.

Haven stood there, tablet tucked by her side, because the tablet couldn’t help now. Watching everything as she always did — like she already knew how this was going to play out.

Something settled in my chest. Steady. Certain.

Then it was gone.

Back to the game.

The first period was a war. Hits stacked. Shots traded. Sebastian stole two goals they should’ve had, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. Our defense held under pressure, tight and controlled.

And Sutherland—

I saw it early. Not the play.

The hesitation.

It was small, at first. Almost nothing. A fraction too slow, pushing across. A glove that came up just a hair light.

Something’s wrong.

I filed it away. There was no time to do anything else.

Then I went after it.

In the second period, we struck first. Ares drove the net, dragging defenders with him. I circled high, pulled coverage, then slipped the puck wide.

Zack was there. Stick down. Ready.

The puck hit him clean. Back of the net.