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The crowd went feral around us, screaming and chanting our names. The sound was punctuated by the dull thud of hockey sticks smacking against the boards as our teammates announced their approval of our fight.
The referees finally showed up to intervene, but their presence barely registered in the frenzy of the moment. Finally, after another linesman arrived, they were able to drag us away from each other. A five minute penalty was announced for both teams, and we were sent off to the box to wait it out.
As I sat down, I blew out a deep breath, wiping my sweat-soaked brow with the back of my hand. Coach Mikkelsen shot a pissed look in my direction, but I knew he wouldn’t threaten to keep me off the ice for the rest of the game as punishment. No one actually gave a fuck about fights on the rink, as long as we didn’t take it too far.
Hell, most of the people at this arena probably expected to see at least one throwdown tonight. It was just part of the entertainment, really. Guys dropping their mitts and going at each other always fired up the crowd, and sometimes the fans even cheered louder for punch-ups and scuffles than they did for points.
When the penalty was over, Coach ordered me back onto the ice. Just as I hopped over the edge, one of the refs called another penalty for the Tigers having too many men on the ice, leaving us with a two-minute power play.
Another surge of adrenaline hit me, and I gritted my teeth, determined to pick up my game and channel all of the anger I felt toward Sienna—and that motherfucker from Princeton—into my stick-handling.
My new resolve worked wonders. Thirty seconds into the play, I took the puck from Todd, weaved my way around the nearest defender, and corralled it with the hook of my blade before firing it into the open side of the net. Precise and targeted, like a fucking sniper. I was finally back on my game.
The goal ignited the crowd. I grinned and slid around to the right, waving at the cheering fans, until I saw Coach’s face. He was glaring at the opposing team’s head coach, who was leaning close to one of the referees near the penalty box.
“What’s going on?” I asked, sliding up to Justin.
“It’s fucking stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Offside review.”
“Wait, what?”
He jerked a thumb toward the Tigers coach. “He’s challenging the goal. He claims Todd didn’t have the puck completely over the line when Keegan went into the zone.”
“Bullshit.”
“They have to check now that it’s been challenged. The puck might’ve just been on the line when his back foot came in. Not all the way over. It’ll be marginal if the call is right, but still…” He trailed off and shrugged.
We waited at the edge of the ice, eyes narrowed as we watched the referee look down at a small screen in his hand, watching a slowed replay of the action preceding my goal. I tried to recall exactly what I saw Keegan doing when Todd took the puck across the line a couple of minutes ago, but the memory was fading fast. I was certain it wasn’t offside, but only the review could tell us for sure.
The referee looked up from the screen, skated out onto the ice, and called out to the crowd. “After the coach’s challenge for Princeton, the play has been determined to be offside!” he said, spreading his arms wide. “No goal!”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, shaking my head. Could tonight’s game get any worse?
The arena filled with a cacophony of jeers and boos from the Blades fans, and Coach Mikkelsen tightened his lips and clapped me on the shoulder. “It was a good goal. Not your fault this happened,” he said. “Just keep going.”
The rest of the second period was a blur. By the time the buzzer sounded, the game was still tied at 0-0. Princeton were playing just as poorly as us tonight.
“Shit, I forgot to tell you,” Justin said, jabbing me in the side. “You’ll never guess who I saw tonight, just before the game started. Right over there.”
I gritted my teeth as my gaze homed in once more on the seat previously occupied by Sienna. She was still gone. “Who?” I muttered.
Justin pointed to the exact spot I was staring at. “Tate Cavanagh and Michaela Langdon,” he said. “They left before we started, though. Dunno why.”
Tate and Michaela. They were Sienna’s best friends back in high school, so any notion that I might have hallucinated her earlier was shattered now. She was really here tonight, and her friends must’ve followed her out after she decided to dip.
“Huh,” I muttered, looking down at my skates. “I guess they go to Worthington too.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Justin stood. “I need more water. See you in a sec, man.”
I kept staring at the floor, losing myself in my thoughts as the intermission crawled by at a snail’s pace. I still couldn’t understand why Sienna Holland would deign to show her face in this arena. Surely she did it on purpose, knowing I was playing for the Blades now. It was hardly a secret—anyone who Googled my name could easily discover that the upcoming season would be my second with the Blades.
I steeled my jaw, glancing back over at the opposite side of the arena again. Sometimes the memories of 2019 almost crippled me with the hatred and fury that arose with them. It permeated everything, filling me up with stress and weighing me down until it felt like I might implode.
It was all because of Sienna. That bitch nearly snatched my entire future away from me… and now I had to wonder if she was back for more. In her eyes, I probably hadn’t suffered enough the first time she fucked with me. No, I had to suffer more. Had to bleed the way she bled that night. Had to feel everything she felt.
I wouldn’t let her do it. Wouldn’t even give her the chance.
The third period finally began. I continued channeling my rage into my performance and scored two goals in a row, easily undressing the defenders and slipping the puck past the goalie like he wasn’t even there.
