Page 81 of On the Power Play

"Right, sorry. I was in my head. Yeah, if they beat Zambone It tonight?—"

Delia held up a hand. "What did you just say?"

"If they beat Zambone It?—"

"That's their name?" Delia pointed at the white jerseys with grey and mustard-yellow arm stripes crowded around the boards of the visiting bench. Jack nodded. "What are the other names in the league?"

Jack's mouth quirked. "Uh, let's see . . . they're all very serious. Stiff Sticks and Dangle, Mill Hoodies, Puck Me, Don's Cherry Pickers?—"

Delia laughed. "I thought this was a competitive league?"

"Damn straight."

"But you name your teams like sixteen-year-old boys."

He scoffed. "Those puns are way too sophisticated for your average teenager."

Delia shook her head as an announcer pointed their attention to the north side of the rink. A woman who looked like she was ready to open for Donny Osmond at Caesar’s Palace stood with a mic in her hand. The audience rose and faced the flag as she sang the national anthem a cappella. As the final phrase, we stand on guard for thee, rang out, the crowd erupted.

Delia’s heart swelled. She might not understand the game, but the rush of energy from sitting and cheering in a crowd was palpable.

The starting players from both teams circled the ice as music pumped through the speakers and the referee skated out from a box in the middle of the boards.

Delia nudged Jack’s arm. "If you aren't nervous, then what had you in your head?" She was a glutton for punishment. The more she knew what was in Jack’s head, the more she wanted, but she couldn’t force herself to stop.

Jack drew a breath and leaned over his knees. "You were talking about this team being family." He ran his thumb over his chin. "I guess it made me think about what the differences were. Here compared to the Blizzard."

"I imagine the level of competitiveness is higher."

Jack shook his head. "No, I meant the difference with me?—"

"What'd we miss?" Clara appeared next to Jack holding a bucket of popcorn with Oscar standing behind her, and the moment was gone. Jack sat up straight as they took their seats next to him. "No face off yet?"

"Just in time." Jack stole a handful of her popcorn, and Clara smacked his hand.

Delia grinned. "I can have Alvin or Mary go get us popcorn if you want some."

Jack shook his head and shoved the handful in his mouth. When he finished chewing, he said, "No, I don't want any. I just wanted some of Clara's."

"Are you that brother?"

"Hell, yes." Jack stole a napkin and wiped his fingers, then reached out and took her hand again, pulling it over to rest on his thigh. And just like that, Delia's head was louder than the fans packed into the stands.

The game started with a puck drop. Delia tried to make sense of it. Jack leaned in and whispered explanations for whistles and calls, but Delia didn’t want to be a chore. She stopped asking questions mid-first period and just took everything in. The fast pace of the game, the crowd, trash talking or cheering depending on who had the puck.

She winced every time a player got slammed into the boards, regardless of whether their jersey was blue or white. When two players dropped mitts and started hammering each other with their fists, Delia tensed and turned her head as the fans went wild. "How? How is this something people want to see?"

Jack's voice was barely audible over the roar. "It's imperative to the game."

She scowled. "It makes no sense! We pride ourselves on being kind and considerate, not violent, and this is our national sport?"

"We pride ourselves on not putting up with shit." Jack ran his free hand through his hair. "Maybe it's not even pride, just gratitude, and we won't let some dickhead high stick and ruin what we've got going."

Delia's attention was drawn back to the ice where the ref led both players to the penalty box. "Wait, so fighting isn’t even allowed?"

Jack shrugged. "You have to weigh the benefit and risk."

Delia's eyes narrowed. "You fight in games?"

---