Page 81 of Offside Angle

The Bastards score first.

The arena erupts in a wave of noise that feels like a physical hit, and the tension on the Reapers’ bench snaps tight almost immediately. I keep my camera raised, tracking the reactions. Damian is… not moving. He’s locked in, standing at the edge of the bench, yelling shifts and instructions over the roar of the crowd, one hand gripping that cane so hard his knuckles have gone white. I press the shutter and capture him mid-command.

Matteo is right next to him. The second Damian taps his shoulder, Mats jumps over the boards for a line change with Viktor. Those two don’t let anything through. Every rush from the Bastards dies against their sticks or their bodies. Nothing reaches Shane, who’s in net today, looking every bit as focused and a little unhinged as usual.

I move along the glass, capturing the grind of it — the hits, the blocked shots, the way Matteo and Viktor communicate without words. It’s pure defensive hockey, and it’s beautiful in its brutality.

Then, right before the horn blows for intermission, the Reapers score.

Surprisingly, it’s Tyler. He rips one from the high slot that finds its way through traffic and into the back of the net. The lamp lights. The crowd noise flips. I catch the celebration on camera — Tyler’s rare, almost sheepish grin, the way the bench erupts. It doesn’t happen often that Tyler scores. When he does, it feels like a gift.

The horn sends them into intermission tied 1–1, but early in the second Elias buries one off a filthy feed from Cole and puts the Reapers ahead.

The Bastards get meaner almost immediately.

Both teams start pushing harder after that. The hits get heavier, shifts get shorter, and every battle along the boards looks a little more personal than the one before it. The Reapers are still protecting the one-goal lead midway through the period when one of Brooklyn’s forwards—Knox, according to the name across his shoulders—gets tangled up with Matteo near the boards.

“Where’s the tattoo girl, Rivera?” Knox chirps, loud enough that I catch it even through the glass. “Finally figure out she had better taste?”

My grip tightens slightly around the camera.

I expect Matteo to react. A shove, a curse, something from that temper he carries around like a loaded weapon.

Instead, he barely gives Knox the satisfaction of looking at him.

“Keep watching me, Knox,” he says as they fight for position. “You might learn how defense works.”

I have to bite back a smile.

There he is.

Calm Matteo might actually be more dangerous than angry Matteo, because when he stops letting people get under his skin, he starts enjoying getting under theirs.

Knox apparently hasn’t figured that out yet.

“Cute little camera boy watching you tonight?” he throws back. “Better smile when you choke.”

That gets Matteo’s attention.

His eyes lift immediately and find me through the glass.

For half a second, everything else disappears behind the look he gives me.

Then he smirks.

“Jealous?”

Something warm and deeply possessive curls through me before I can stop it.

Oh.

I like that far too much.

Knox barely has time to react before Matteo strips the puck clean off his stick and sends it up ice to Cole. A few seconds later it’s in the net, and Cole is skating past the crease screaming, “YASSS, BITCH!” like this is somehow a normal playoff celebration.

I laugh behind the camera while Matteo circles away from the play, grinning even as Cole continues glaring at him from the celebration.

Knox looks significantly less entertained.