Page 49 of Play Dirty

Off the post.

The crowd gasped collectively, swallowing the sharp, metallic ring.

“Again…” I heard Mercer growl, under his breath.

And again, they did.

The team tightened up, and things came into sharper focus. Midway through the first period, it started to click. Ares held his lane — barely — but long enough to close the gaps that were previously forming. Grayson moved the puck with purpose. Zack’s lateral movements were on point; he’d caught the defenders a few times with shifts of his hips.

Then — a turnover. Forced by the Phantoms.

It became a two-on-one. A one-on-one…

FUCK.

Goal.

Sebastian didn’t have a chance. He was left frozen, legs splayed, one arm extended to catch a shot that was already in the back of the net.

The celebration was bitter to watch. I watched it anyway. A minute later, the buzzer sounded. Period over.

“Phantoms aren’t giving them any room,” Mercer coughed. “They’re keeping up the pressure.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But our team’s playing smart. And pressure can be broken.”

By the second period, Mercer hadn’t let up. He’d shouted at the team to react quicker, and go harder.

“Move the damn puck!” he’d snapped. “You’re thinking too much— play!”

The Reavers came out harder. Faster. And this time?

The Phantoms were the first to give.

Grayson drove hard, and cut left. He found a lane, and instead of forcing it, he snapped the puck across…

… straight onto Caleb’s stick. He didn’t hesitate.

Shot —

GOAL.

The roar of the crowd hit like a pressure wave. I let it wash over me, absorbing the energy, reveling in the raw exultation.

Mercer looked at me sideways, but offered nothing in the form of congratulations.

The game tightened even more after that.

Every shift mattered. Every mistake was punished. Sebastian settled in, his movements loosening as instinct took over. There was no more hesitation in the crease. He slid left and right, arms moving like an inflatable air dancer at a used car lot. He blocked a few solid shots. He even closed the distance, and took the puck on an errant breakaway.

Ares played mean — but smarter, now. His hits landed where they needed to, and nowhere else.

And Grayson…

Grayson controlled everything. He wasn’t perfect — not yet, anyway — but he was skating hard in that direction. His movements were deliberate now, his orders intelligent. He wasn’t reacting anymore, he was dictating. Guiding. Passing…

Finally.

Late in the third, with the score still tied, everything was on the line. The Phantoms pushed harder, tightening their defense. Their forward line began forcing mistakes, looking for that one opening that would it end it. It could happen fast, too. With just a flick of the wrist, it could be for nothing.