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One last drill finished, and it's time. We shed our warm-up sweaters and take our positions, shoulders squared, breaths controlled. The tension crackling through the arena is electric. Across from us, the Enforcers are coiled springs ready to be unleashed.
The ref takes the ice with the puck, glancing between the teams. His whistle pierces the heavy air. My pulse thrums as I lunge for the puck. Our skates tear at the ice, sticks colliding as we battle for control.
The game starts off fast and brutal, both sides ruthless in pursuit of control. But it's more than a quest for points—it's primal. A battle for dominance between two clashing philosophies.
Their blows land harder than usual, eyes lit with something that curdles my stomach. Bigotry breeds brutality, even if it's wearing a uniform and cheered from the stands. They see me and London as weak spots to exploit. And they won't hesitate to hit us where it hurts.
I’ll show these fuckers weak.
Tris practically snarls when their winger aims an elbow at London's head. Hotshot knocks the bastard off course and sends the puck sailing down ice to me instead. I make the shot, grinning savagely as the siren sounds.
On our next possession, the Enforcers team up to block London from passing me the puck for a clear shot. But Bear uses his hulking frame to clear space, allowing London to thread the pass through at the last second. My stick connects and the puck rips into the net.
Piece by piece, we dismantle their cheap tactics. Every dirty hit brings five clean but punishing checks in return. The ice slowly shifts in our favor, though the score stays close. We can't let our guard down.
The clock winds through the first period, both sides getting increasingly physical. I barely make it to the bench between shifts, gulping water and sucking air into my burning lungs. London slumps against me, both of us spent but thrumming with adrenaline.
"Those assholes are looking to pick a fight," Deck mutters, eyeing the Enforcers darkly. "Trying to make us lose our cool."
London's hands tighten around his stick, but he nods. "We give them what they want, and we play right into their hands."
I exhale harshly, rolling my stiff shoulders. "So we keep our heads down. Stay focused on the win." Easier said than done with their slurs still ringing in my ears. Every time I’m on the ice, they’re saying all kinds of fucked up shit I’d never repeat. But I trust my team implicitly. If tempers start to flare later on, we'll shut it down.
Right before we retake the ice, London pulls me aside, his eyes burning. "I love you, Riot. Don't let them take this from you." Then we're swallowed back up by the crowd's roar before I can respond, but he already knows what I would’ve said.
The hits come faster and harder in the second period, leaving bruises that’ll ache for weeks. But we answer every blow. Deck and the defensemen guard us like wolves, never hesitating to lay an Enforcer out flat if they try targeting one of us again.
Twenty minutes left, and we're down by one goal. The Enforcers can smell blood in the water. They're taking more risks, trying to widen the lead before we can rally. A reckless mistake that will cost them if we stay smart.
I pass the puck to Tris, darting for an open patch of ice. But before I make it three strides, an elbow jams brutally into my ribs, making me wheeze. Their biggest defenseman looms over me, grinning cruelly.
"Fucking fairy," he sneers down at me. "Why don't you limp on home? You don't belong out here with us real men."
Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. Every bruised bone in my body screams for retaliation, to make the bastard hurt ten times worse. To show him exactly how much of afucking fairyI am with my fists in his face.
Across the rink, London's eyes find mine, filled with an entire conversation.Don't let them fuck with your game. Get up and show them they fucked with the wrong guy.
With a rough exhale, I find my feet. The asshole’s smug expression wavers. He wants me to lose it and make this about more than the game. But I won't give him what he wants.
The anger bottled in my chest propels me forward, body angled low. I zero in on the goal like there's no one between it and me, weaving and spinning out of reach whenever they try to block me. The cold air scours my lungs, everything narrowing down to a single purpose—driving this shot home.
My stick pulls back and then connects with a crack that vibrates through my palms. The puck blurs, too fast to follow. An instant later, the buzzer blares as it hits the back of the net.
Fucking hat trick, baby.
The stands erupt, our supporters roaring, but all I see is London's face. The pride and love burning in his eyes makes everything else meaningless.
Over on the bench, Deck is on his feet, grinning like a maniac and banging his stick against the boards as the team swarms me, slapping my helmet and shoving each other in elation. On the Enforcers' bench, that giant bag of dicks glares at me with hatred twisting his mouth into something ugly and inhuman.
"That's how it's done, Kensington!" Tris crows, still pumped from my goal. "Fuck those small-minded douchebags!"
Tris' curse carries just far enough for the ref to hear. He glides over, shooting us a warning glare to watch our mouths. Tris winces, but the reprimand doesn't dampen our spirits. We're within striking distance now, one point from evening the score.
Everything changes after that goal rattles their net. The Enforcers' confidence takes a hit and their plays get sloppy. We're moving like a single beast, defending and attacking in perfect sync. It's like the hockey gods lined up the stars so this game is ours for the taking.
This is our house, our ice, our championship to take. The crowds can cheer for the Enforcers all they want, but they're not the team with destiny on their side tonight. I canfeelit. These boys are my brothers, forged together by blood and sweat. And we're gonna show the world what true champions look like when that clock runs out.
With five minutes left, we manage to pull ahead by one point. The Enforcers are getting desperate, charging the net in pairs, trying to overwhelm our defenders. Our exhaustion is bone deep at this point, but we dig deep, refusing to yield another inch of ice.
