AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Thank fuck. I throw my arms up and skate around the crease, going to the boards just as my teammates collide with me. There are love pats to my helmet, my back, and I head down toward the bench to collect the fist bumps from my teammates.
That’s the best part, really. The rush of adrenaline, the cheering of the crowd. Our goal song, which is cheesy but ultimately pretty perfect for the Titans.
One more to go.
I glance up at the screen and watch the replay, grinning to myself. It cuts to Aurora’s reaction, and my smile freezes on my face.
Luke is whispering something to her when I score, and while she appears to be listening, she’s definitely not focused on him. She’s watchingme. She leaps to her feet and throws her hands up, jumping in place.
I glance over to where she’s sitting.
Luke is gone, and she’s smiling.
See? I can do something right.
“One more,” Jacob says.
Yeah. There’s an unspokenor elsefollowing that sentence, although I know he doesn’t mean it like a threat. He’s not the one threatening Aurora.
On my next cycle, I get the puck and somehow, I score again.
And in the third period, I score again.
It’s accidental, though, a deflection when I just meant to get the hell out of the way.
And Haverhill can’t seem to get his act together. Because with four minutes remaining, we’re still losing bythree.
“High-scoring game,” Church says to me. “What do you make of that?”
“I don’t make anything of it.” I pour water on my head. I’m burning up, but I’m glad I don’t have the urge to shit my pants. Because that was fucking embarrassing. “I just think it’s a high-scoring game.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lawson collides with a Vegas player. It’s a nasty, uncalled-for hit from the Vegas side, and the whole crowd immediately dials in on them. There’s boos and jeers that float up around us, the low tone going straight through me. It’s nice when we’ve got the home team rooting for us.
They shove each other, and the whistle blows. Play comes to a halt. They’re smack-talking, normal shit, but Church and I automatically lean forward. Forearms on the bench, ready to leap into action if needed.
It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve flung ourselves over the boards to get our skin in the game.
Their gloves come off.
“He’s been itching for a fight,” Church mutters.
“Good,” I reply.
The refs are circling, but they don’t interfere while Lawson and the Vegas player latch on to each other. They get some hitsin, playing the fun game of trying to stay out of reach and hit the shit out of the other guy. Their helmets are knocked off.
“Come on,” I yell. “You beat your dick harder than that!”
Another few seconds pass, and then Lawson seems to have had enough. He does some twisting move, dragging his opponent in closer and getting him off his feet.
The crowd, our bench, everyone goes mental.
The linemen step in, pulling Lawson away to the sin bin, and the Vegas player staggers to his feet. He spits blood on the ice and is guided away.
Good.
Three minutes left, and it’s four on four. But we’re losing so bad, I don’t think it matters.
