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Dallas finally wakes up and starts defending their zone through the second period. There are more scuffles, more knocks into the glass, and more penalties—mostly Remington, who has now elbowed someone in the face, tripped another guy, and was sent to the box a few other times for roughing.
Lucky for us, we’ve managed to hold them off from scoring during their power plays.
My mind is focused every time I take the ice, but when I’m waiting for my shift and trying to watch the plays, my thoughts drift to Avery.
Which I know is a distraction I don’t need, not with this new GM arriving next week.
Still, I need to see her tonight, even though I know I shouldn’t, but I’m fucking sharing a room with Rhett, and I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to Face Time her without him around.
He hasn’t asked me about her or the status of our relationship since our conversation last week, but I know it’s coming.
We’re at the bottom of the third period, up by three—one of the rookies got a lucky rebound during the second period—with two minutes left to go. Remington whizzes by me and collides with Myers who has control of the puck and sends it sailing. Myers gets in his face, Rhett pushes him, and the ref blows the whistle sending Rhett to the sin bin.
Again.
Dallas has the advantage, and as the crowd chants for the power play. Tag, the rookie, and I are battling it out with four Oilers in front of our net.
And then Myers gets in my face, because apparently, starting a fight with one Devil wasn’t enough. He must want to rack up another penalty.
“Does everyone on the team get a go with Remington’s sister?”
The fuck?
I know he didn’t just say what I think he said.
I’m all over him, my chest bumping his, and I’m more than ready to drop the gloves and beat his ass. “What the fuck did you say, Myers?”
He grins, but it sure as hell isn’t a friendly one. “Are all of you fucking Remington’s slut of a sister? Or are you taking turns? I’d call dibs, but it looks like she’s a little on the chubby side after that baby.” His smile grows wider. “I bet her pussy’s pretty used up after going through most of the Stars.”
All I fucking see is red.
The gloves come off and my helmet quickly follows. He’s taken his off too, but I’ve barely had time to register before I grab his jersey, cock my fist, and punch him right in his fucking mouth. He gets a hit, making contact with my chin, but it doesn’t stop me. It only fuels my anger.
I get a few more punches in before the linesmen jump in to separate us. My chest is heaving, my chin stings, and I want nothing more than this ref to loosen his grip so I can knock Myers the fuck out. His lip is bloody and swollen, and there’s already a bruise forming below his right eye.
It’s not enough.
No one talks about Avery like that.
No. One.
I ignore the concerned looks from Linc and Tag, and by the time I join Rhett in the penalty box and everything has had time to sink in, I’m positively foul. There’s no chance I’ll get back out on the ice this game, but the next time we play these wankers, Myers better watch out.
This will not be forgotten.
“You’re bleeding.” Rhett hands me some water, and I don’t miss the amusement in his tone.
I grunt and take a drink.
“I gotta say,” he leans back and props his stick beside him, “I don’t think I’ve seen you lose your shit before.”
That’s because I haven’t, but I don’t tell him that, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell him what Myers said about his sister, so I grunt again.
“He must’ve said something pretty good to get your panties in a bunch,” Rhett continues, completely unfazed by my silence. “I lost it on this guy last year.” He tosses a knowing look my way and right now, I hate it. “That dick, Adam Sailer, from Minnesota, insinuated he wanted to be balls deep in my wife.”
I run a hand across my chin and let out a string of curses when it comes back bloody. “I remember that game. You never said that was the reason.”
“Didn’t need to. I took care of it.”
