Page 104 of Break the Ice
“You’re not the one who decides who goes in!” Oates screeches.
“You didn’t hear me the first time. I said fuck off. I’m playing.” I push past him as everybody returns to the ice.
Coach yells after me but I pay him no mind. We’ve been on bad terms lately and he knows it.
McGuire’s back to glaring. I’m back to smirking at him.
The second period begins with the puck in our possession. Promising at first ’til we fuck up and one of the Trojans snags the puck away from between Stower’s legs. We rush to recover but fail to do so in time. The Trojans take their shot and land another goal.
The tension in the air only intensifies.
We battle it out like we’re playing for a championship and not a regular early season game. Things spiral from there. Decorum’s lost. Tempers shatter. Dirty plays enter the rink as a Trojan elbows Foley and a brawl breaks out.
If the crowd went wild before, they go insane at the fists flying.
Penalties are issued. The refs send the offending players to the box.
I’ve intentionally kept my nose clean, where I’d usually be in the thick of things.
We face-off and I pull off an expert slide of my blade, stealing the puck for the Wolves. I cut across the blue line, pulling all sorts of spins and slides to avoid anybody that comes my way. Defense has got my back for once, and McGuire and the others trip over themselves trying to stop me.
I’m so damn close I can taste it.
The air rips from my lungs. Cold sweat clings to my brow. I bear down and push myself harder. My blades cut into the ice as I whip across the icy field and then come up on the crease.
Marisse flashes before my eyes—her gorgeous face appears out of nowhere like she’s real and not a mirage. I blink and realize I’m staring at the VIP, rink-side seats where Dad’s positioned. Directly behind the Wolves’ bench, he’s watching me closely, his brow pinched, his face that’s mine only aged up and lined with concentration.
You’re the legacy, Rafe. I protect our legacy no matter what.
I pause only slightly, then take the shot. I swing my stick ten feet out after coming out of a double spin and dodging two Trojan defensemen and land the shot.
The ice beneath my blades vibrates. The entire arena vibrates.
Our Wolfpack erupts with so much damn fervor you’d think we had just won the Stanley Cup.
In reality, we’re up in the third with a few minutes left to go.
The rest of the team cheers just as excitedly from the sidelines, including Coach Oates who’s red enough you’d think he were about to pass out.
My team glides over to fist bump and clap hands to my back. I’m barely paying attention to any of it—my gaze shoots toward the front row seat where Dad had been moments before. He’s long gone.
Then I glance up toward the sky box where Marisse is supposed to be seated.
“Do you know what kind of favors I’m having to call in? I’ve had to come up with a whole elaborate scapegoat situation. Just to take the heat off you.”
“You’re trying to cover it up?”
Dad nods. “That’s right. And it’s a thankless job. You’ve been too busy getting mixed up with that woman Hawk was screwing. Don’t give me that look. I know all about what you’ve been up to when you should be keeping your head in the game.”
These details blend together into one giant fucked-up realization. It’s damn near enough to knock me off my skates. It damn sure comes close to stopping my heart.
Dad said he’s arranged a scapegoat for Hawk’s murder. Somebody to take the fall. Was the scapegoat Marisse this whole time?
A cold chill passes over me as I slide to a halt and then feel a sense of vertigo. The world around me feels like it’s tipping upside down and I’m along for the ride. I can do nothing but stand on the ice in the middle of a crowd of tens of thousands and experience the total mind fuck that’s taken over.
And it’s in this moment that I pull a move that surprises everybody—I dart not for the player bench or the red line on the rink. I race toward the exit.
The crowd gasps. Coaches yell at me to ask where I’m going. The shocked remarks of the game commentators echo around me. None of it stops me. I rush toward the exit that leads to the corridor and team locker rooms.
