Page 63 of The Pucking Grump

“Can’t the time go any faster?” Luke spits through gritted teeth as we skate across to help Ken.

I glance at the timer. We have only six minutes left. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the Wild’s players, they’re still very much trying to win.

“I’m going to kill him.” Ken spits out a mouthful of blood and jerks himself free of our grasp. “Can’t believe the referee isn’t even going to call a foul.”

Our coach is leaning over the boards, arguing hotly with the referee. The man looks like he’s not budging. I skate back to position, already slightly bored. What I wouldn’t give for the time to run down so the game can finally end . . .

So the game can finally end and I can hold Faye in my arms again.

Discomfort rears its ugly head in my stomach. I look over at Ken and Luke, who are still both fuming. Our coach seems to be blind with rage. In fact, I’m the only person on the Philly Titans team who isn’t fuming.

Are the guys right? Have I changed all that much?

I clench my hands tighter around my hockey stick. I don’t even need to wonder what’s changed about me. The whole world knows it.

Other incidents start popping into my head. Like the fact that I seem to be completely immune to the guys’ teasing. I’ve barely even noticed it.

More than that, when Kevin suggested Faye come to the game, arguing, “If her father really starts telling people your relationship is a fake one, we need to have as much public evidence as we can to combat it,” I’d okayed the plan without thinking. I’ve always been the guy who thought it was cringey to invite your girlfriend to watch a game just so the cameras could get the after-game kiss. And yet, here I am.

I’m changing. And I can’t even bring myself to care.

The referee blows the whistle again, and my coaches return to the box, their faces bright with anger. Ken and Luke look even more tense as we start to play again. My sense of boredom increases. There’s just four minutes left, but it feels like it could be hours.

Without even meaning to, I glance up again at Faye. She’s still visible from her seat in the box, but I notice that she’s no longer looking down at the ice.

She’s got her attention focused on a man sitting beside her. I squint, my head already starting to pound. He looks vaguely familiar.

Ken and the Wild’s center crash against each other as they reach for the puck, but I can’t look away from the man with Faye. His soppy little smile, his weak chin . . .

My gut tenses. Weak Chin. Of course.

“If you don’t start focusing, White, I’m going to bench you!”

I start. Coach is screaming down at me. I’ve been completely stationary for five seconds, while the centers are basically in a headlock.

Blood rushes to my ears. A mix of mortification, shame, and pure unchecked rage is always a good combination on the ice.

Barely thinking, I rush toward the center. He’s burly, about fifty pounds heavier than me and an inch taller. He’s about to throw Ken to the ice again when I thrust a fist between their bodies and disengage them. He turns his attention to me, his face brick red.

My ears are still ringing. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I’ve nothing to lose. There’s less than three minutes on the clock, and this beefy bully poses no threat to me in the slightest.

And yet, when I stare back at him, all I can think of is Weak Chin. The fucking asshole talking to my girl.

I arch my shoulders and drive myself toward him, headfirst. He comes at me with similar intensity. In a second, however, he’s ricocheting off my shoulders and spinning away. Ken lets out a victorious whoop, but I feel nothing for hurting him. Hell, I’m half tempted to go over to him and punch him until he’s unconscious.

Not him, anyway. Someone.

I’m tempted to look up at the box once more when Ken yells, “The puck! You’ve got the puck!”

The Wild’s wingers close in on me, swift and aggressive. Frustration overriding finesse, I lash out, sending the puck flying toward the goal with all my might. It slips between an opponent’s legs, zeroing in on the target. The goalie lunges in a desperate attempt to intercept but falls short. As the puck settles in the net, the buzzer sounds, sealing the moment.

The crowd erupts in their largest cheer yet. The commentator is screaming, “And with the one-timer of the decade, White closes the game! Folks will be talking about this for years.”

My teammates crash into me, yelling loudly with jubilation. All along, there’s a dull ringing in my ears and my face feels hard with tension.

Why is Weak Chin at my game? Why the hell is he talking to Faye?

And why is she giving him the time of the day?

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