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The horn blows and pulls me from my thoughts. Shutting my eyes quickly and giving my head a shake, I skate out of the net and over to my team behind the wall. Stepping through, I flop onto the bench and grab a water bottle.
“Yo! You awake out there? Your offense is killing it tonight, saving your ass.” Luke smacks my shoulder as he steps in and sits next to me.
“Get the fuck outta here. Let them try to score on me.”
“Your defense is doing their job, too, so they don’t even get close.”
“You’re welcome.” Blake emerges and sits on the other side of me.
I scan the crowd. It’s a packed house and I know they’re all waiting for a show. “Let someone in. I’m in the mood to show them why they shouldn’t get close.”
“You’ve been in a mood since you hit it and quit it with that chick.”
I bite on my lip, and my body tenses. They’re right, but I don’t want to acknowledge it. I’m a fucking bad boy, love ‘em and leave ‘em. I don’t get hung up on women and I definitely don’t get called out about it.
“I just need to fight. Then we need to go to a bar so I can find someone to fuck.”
They laugh. “Keep telling yourself that. We’ve noticed you haven’t been doing either.”
The horn blowing again drowns out my choice words for them.
We skate out to our spots. The puck is dropped and I watch as Luke gains control. He’s double teamed, but does a double cut moving away from them easily. As fast as he makes it down toward the goal, he loses the puck and the opponent is coming my way. A couple of my teammates fight him for it, throwing the stick at his skates, bumping and riding him down the length of the ice.
“Come on! Come to Daddy Zeke. I got you, fucker.” I talk to myself, goading him, though he can’t hear me. He sees my eyes, and I wait for him to get closer. I watch his stick and the way his feet turn. I know which way he’s going, and it’s an easy block for me. I drop to my knees, trapping the puck. I slap it out again and skate out, wanting someone to come to me. My body is itching for motion, for a push, something. I circle around the back of the net, leaving it open on purpose.
Let them think they can get an easy shot.
My guys cover me and as the opponent turns and rushes me, I slam him into the boards. His head and the helmet hit, and I laugh as I’m hit from the back and thrown against them, as well.
“Fuck! Yes!”
I drop my stick, throw my gloves and swing. I don’t care who it is, or why I do it. I just want to fight. I just need that hit, need that attack that makes me feel alive.
I haven’t felt alive since the night I met Honey.
And she left me without a trace.
Was she even real?
I’m suddenly hit, hard, and my head snaps to the right. I drop to my knees, blood pouring onto the ice.
“Zeke! Jesus Christ!”
The refs are pulling at me, my teammates are pulling at me and I just want to keep swinging.
“Get him out of here!”
* * *
I’min the locker room, ice on my right hand while my left eyebrow is stitched up.
“He got you good, Zeke.”
Shrugging, “I was distracted. He got lucky.”
“Well, you’re not so lucky, Stone.” Coaches booming voice enters the room before he does. “They deemed you an instigator in that fight. You know what that means.”
“Fuck! No, I can’t miss the next game! They can’t do that!”
