Page 79 of Her Player

“Hey, hey, heeeey!” he exclaimed when their goalie pulled off his helmet to throw it at my best friend. “Look who’s got a late curfew tonight, boys?! Does your mother know you’re out that late!”

“I just have a fucking babyface, you asshole!” the goalie piped up.

Jett just threw his head back with laughter, however, before he sniped that puck right between the fucker’s legs, setting off the goal alarm. And even though it wasn’t an actual goal, seeing as we reset the play, it didn’t stop Jett from making a comment.

“Good thing that didn’t count, then! You sure you’re a righty?! Because you don’t skate like one! Maybe you should ask your mom if you’re not sure! She around?! I could ask her for you over dinner!”

“You stupid motherfuck⁠—”

Their goalie took off after Jett, and within seconds, Moose was across the ice. He slammed into their goalie, pushing him away before skating around the rink and back toward his goal. The official blew his whistle twice, indicating that the first period was over.

I barely registered Coach barking at us for keeping our heads in the game.

The second period saw more goals than our entire season, combined. Every time we sank a puck, they came up and tied the game. One to zero. Then, one to one. Two to one, then two to two. On and on it crept until the second period ended with the score being fucking four to four.

They gave us a fucking run for our money, that much was for certain.

Coach didn’t stop switching out players. He didn’t give the Bulldog coach a chance to analyze what our team was capable of. The only two players who stayed out on the ice the entire time, outside of Moose, were me and Jett. We danced around one another like we were born on the ice. A brick house and a string bean with eyes, dancing around on sharpened blades. The crowd went wild. Every shot Moose blocked, women in the crowd shrieked for him. Every word that came from Jett’s mouth made the men hoot with laughter and cheer him on.

Until the game clock counted down the final seconds.

“Twenty! Nineteen! Eighteen! Seventeen!”

The crowd chanted the last seconds, and I knew we had to make a move. If we didn’t want this game going into overtime, we had to take control and show these fuckers who owned this ice. No one came into our city and kicked our asses. We’d shown that much all season. Forfeited game be damned, we didn’t let them get the best of us there, either. We made sure they fucking walked out with their tails between their legs, and with the media in their faces as well.

Courtesy of me and Jett, who just so happened to ‘leak’ to the media after that game exactly what exit the Detroit Pirates were going to use.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

I intercepted a pass the other team took with the puck. The crowd went wild as Coach barked orders none of us heard since the crowd was roaring like a deafening storm. I skated down the rink, knowing damn good and well that there were at least three Bulldogs coming after me.

I heard Jett chirping, but none of them were deterred.

“Six! Five! Four!”

We had to do something. We had to pull out a move. Otherwise, we’d go into overtime, and according to the studying Jett and I had done in our spare time, overtime was where the Bulldogs excelled.

They wanted the overtime.

We had to make sure not to give it to them.

“Three! Two!”

Jett zipped in front of me and I gave it my best shot. I tucked the puck in between his legs, then darted off quickly to the left, acting like I still had the puck. Two of the men behind me followed, but one of them eyed Jett down as he took aim at their goal from at least twenty feet away.

And that man sprinted right toward my best friend.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t,” I glowered.

The slap of the puck was met with the blaring of the game clock, signaling the end of the third period. The puck sank into the goal, triggering the red alarm that sent the crowd roaring and soaring to their feet. That man didn’t stop, though. His eyes were trained on Jett, despite the end of the game, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Jett! Look out!” I barked.

I pushed off the ice harder than I’d pushed off anything in three years.

Time did the thing it sometimes did on the ice when a hit was coming. Stretched out. Compressed. The crowd went away. The buzzer went away. I could see every individual fiber of the Bulldog’s jersey getting closer. I could see Jett in my peripheral, oblivious, still grinning at the puck he’d just put in the goal.

I knew exactly what was about to happen to me.