Page 77 of Tough Call

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Right?” He put his phone away. “Do you ever see ads for bullfights? I saw the bullring in Sevilla, but I don’t remember seeing any ads or billboards or whatever.”

“I’ve seen them before. I was in… I think it was Segovia? And there were banners up for one. Just like photos of the matadors and stuff.”

Connor squirmed in the passenger seat. “You’ve never been to one, have you?”

“Absolutely not,” I said without hesitation.

“Good. That’s a hard limit for me.”

“Same.” I shuddered. “I’ll stick to fighting with other hockey players.”

“And I’ll stick to breaking up hockey fights.”

I tsked. “Ugh. Refs like you ruin all the fun.”

Connor laughed and elbowed me. “Oh come on. We only step in when one of you is clearly getting your ass kicked.”

“Exactly! Like I’m just about to win, and you come along and Nerf the fight.” I rolled my eyes. “Rude.”

He snickered. “Yep. That’s what I’m there for. To ruin someone’s night.”

“I knew it!” I wagged a finger at him. “I fucking knew it!”

“Pfft. Like it’s a big secret. And besides, we’re just getting back at you all for giving us so much lip.”

“Really?”

“Oh, man,” Connor laughed as he pressed back against the seat. “I swear sometimes the hardest part of my job is keeping a straight face.”

“Oh yeah?” I glanced at him. “Like from all the chirping?”

“Well, that, but mostly from all the grown men arguing with me like children.” He chuckled, then mocked, “‘But he hit me first! How come he doesn’t get a penalty?’ Uh, I don’t know, bruh—maybe because his was a perfectly legal and clean hit, and you cross-checked him in the face?”

“Ugh.” I shook my head. “But then when it is a dirty hit, and the refs only call the retaliation…” I shot him an inquisitive look.

Connor tsked. “I know. That annoys me too. I swear, Bill Carson and I almost went to blows over it my first season.”

“Did you?”

He nodded. “Everyone knows he does that. A player can sucker punch another right in front of him, but he’ll only blow the whistle on the punched player returning fire. It’s so damn stupid.” He made a disgusted sound. “I called him out one time during an intermission because he’d put someone in the box over it. I was like, ‘Dude, everyone knows the guy you put in the box had major neck surgery a few years ago. He got punched in the neck from behind. Yeah, punching him back was a penalty, but the other guy should’ve had an intent-to-injure.’”

I made a face. “Can’t you call that one?”

“Sometimes.” Connor sighed. “But I didn’t see it happen until the replay. By that point, it was too late.”

“That’s such bullshit,” I muttered. “You guys should be able to make calls based on replays.”

“Yeah, but I can see why they don’t. If we start contradicting each other, then it undermines everyone’s trust in us.” He barked a humorless laugh. “As if they have much of that left after all the shit that’s come out.”

“There is that. Man, that whole thing was…” I exhaled, shaking my head.

“It wasn’t fun, that was for sure. I mean, I’ve always kept my nose clean, but even I was nervous about something coming out. Like, it didn’t matter that I’ve never done anything unscrupulous. At that point, all it would take was someone accusing me, and…” He dragged a finger across his throat.

“Shit,” I muttered. “But it’s mostly died down?”

“Mostly. The guys who were doing dirty shit are gone. The rest of us are under a microscope—and honestly, we should be—but we’re probably safe.”