Page 23 of Play Dirty

But they weren’t in control.

By the second period, the other team had made adjustments. They tightened up, and closed lanes. They forced our guys into tighter spaces, where individual skill mattered less and structure mattered more.

That’s where everything started to break.

Ares chased a hit he didn’t need to make. He left his lane open, which created an opportunity…

Goal.

Tie game.

I watched as he cracked his stick hard against the ice. He slammed the boards as he came off, his breath heavy, his eyes sharp.

I didn’t say a word, though.

I didn’t need to.

Three shifts later, Caleb hesitated when he had the shot. He waited too long, lost it, and the puck was stolen from the end of his stick.

The breakaway resulted in a nail-biting one-on-one. Sebastian did everything he could, but it wasn’t enough.

Goal.

We were down by one.

I exhaled slowly, tapping the screen in a few more places.

“They’re doing exactly what I said they would,” I said quietly.

Mercer’s iron jaw tightened.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

He shifted forward, barking orders and making adjustments. And while Grayson might’ve been listening to the coach’s words, his cold gray eyes were still fixed on me.

The third period started, and the captain addressed his team. Some of them listened. Some of them didn’t.

That much was obvious, in just the first couple of minutes.

Play was tight, and the Reavers clawed their way back on pure talent and refusal to quit. That was good to see. Either a team had that or they didn't; it wasn’t something you could really teach. You could fan the flames, but the initial spark had to be there.

Their tying goal woke the crowd up again. It got the bench going as well.

But then, with the clock winding down, things changed again.

They were falling apart, slipping out of position. Anxious to fix it, I moved closer to Mercer.

“They’re still collapsing early,” I told him. “We can’t let them set. We need to shift the puck faster on entry, and tell Ares to stop chasing contact. He’s opening that lane every time.”

This time the coach shifted his eyes my way. He nodded once.

“GRAYSON!” he barked.

Grayson skated over immediately, helmet off, breathing hard.

“Move the puck faster on entry,” Mercer ordered. “Weak side’s open. Use it.”

The center’s eyes flicked over to me, then back to the coach. It all happened in less than a second, but it was enough.