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Connecting the Dots
Rust
Midway through the third period, there wasn’t much life in the arena. We hadn’t given the crowd much to cheer for. Content with their four goal lead, the Minnesota Extreme went into a defensive shell, suffocating our offense while they ran the clock out on Game 1.
“Where’s the fucking intensity?!” Killer yelled as he paced the bench behind us. “Don’t just roll over anddie!This is the playoffs! Send a message for the next game!”
The third line took the next shift, but the result was the same: another fruitless dump and chase play in the o-zone that led to an easy clear for Minnesota. Lather, rinse, repeat. We were going through the motions of a game that was clearly over.
We were fucked.
I wasn’t the only Sin to have a terrible game, no, but my shitty play had cost us early. I was responsible for at least the first three goals against us, digging a hole for us to climb out of.
I got rattled before the game even started, when Isabelle didn’t respond to any of my texts asking how her day had gone with her dad. Ihopedshe was just too busy to respond, but the read receipts proved that she’d read my messages. It wasn’t like her to not reply at all.
And considering what she was planning on telling Johnny today, I was officially worried.
I was even more worried when we took the ice for warm-ups, and Isabelle and Johnny weren’t in their seats. All game long, I kept peeking over at their seats, hoping to see them behind the glass, but their seats stayed empty.
“Walker, Cotton, you’re up,” Killer said, sending us over the boards.
As soon as Cale and I took the ice, the play came back into our zone. I broke the play up and stole the puck but, under pressure from a forechecker, instantly flubbed the breakout pass. The Extreme intercepted the puck, zipped a backdoor pass, and quickly potted their sixth goal of the game.
The crowd groaned—the few of them that stuck around to witness this beatdown, anyway.
“The fuck is wrong with you tonight, Walker?” Killer bellowed as I coasted back to the bench. “Wake the fuck up! You’re a veteran, a leader! Fuckingplaylike it!”
Coach didn’t give me another chance to redeem myself, though. He stapled my ass to the bench as the final minutes drained off the clock.
When the buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 6–1, and the crowd booed our effort. We left the bench with our heads hung low and our tails between our legs.
“WALKER!”a fan screamed at me as we left the ice. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
I wasn’t surprised to hear an angry fan jeer me after the game I had. Throw in that last boneheaded mistake that ended up in the back of the net, and as a pro, you expect to hear a few heated chirps, even from the hometown fans.
“WALKER! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
But this guy soundedreallyupset. And a commotion went over the crowd as the outraged fan pushed his way to get closer to the tunnel.
“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!”
Actually, that voice sounded eerily familiar.
“BIG FELLA! LOOK AT ME, YOU COWARD!”
Shit.Could it really be him?
I glanced up and spotted Johnny in the crowd. His face was bright red as he tried to shove his way over to the tunnel, where he could hop the railing and confront me. The only thing holding him back was a duo of security personnel, who wrestled with him in a desperate effort to hold him back.
Damn it,I thought, clenching my jaw.I’m fucked.
Dakota stopped and stared at the spectacle, too. “Holy fuck, Rust. Isn’t that Johnny wrestling with security?”
“Yeah, bud,” I grumbled.
“What’s he so upset about?”
I didn’t say. It was clear he’d found out, but how? Isabelle must’ve told him. I’d rather he’d heard it from me first. On the other hand, if Isabelle told him, I have to say, I’d be proud of her. That couldn’t have been easy. I know, because I’d been dreading it myself all day.
