Page 20 of Ice, Ice… Maybe?

“Apporte-le - espèce de gros animal stupide!”Theo screamed and threw his gloves, indicating they were about to see that famous temper in action once more – and the crowd loved it. A roar surged in the stands as Theo and the man, snapping at each other.

“Yo, Travis – ‘gros animal stupide’ means ‘ya big dumb animal’… We’re gonna teach you French one phrase at a time, my brother,” and Gerry flung down his gloves, hollering once more – looking at Theo and then toward the hulking brute who was glaring at them.“Allons-y, cochonrie!”

Let’s go, piglet, really?

Travis sighed.

It was ‘go’ time, and they were about to brawl once more.Why waste the energy?The score was up, and they were doing great. Plus he was pretty sure the last shot he passed to Gerry was going to be on SportsCenter, and just as he was about to fling off his gloves, Theo was already in the man’s face, yelling up at him in a mixture of French and broken English.

Wasn’t that man scared of anything?

Only to have the entire thing interrupted by a whistle before it really got started. Theo and Gerry were ordered off the ice to the penalty box for ten minutes, and Thibodeaux wasn’t. The crowd booed at the referees and broke out in a cheer once more as two other teammates skated forward to be his guards.

Not a moment later, the puck was dropped.

Travis dove forward, slamming his stick into the space where the puck used to be, and cursed under his breath. The other guy slammed it away and was guiding it past him like he was a roadblock to be ignored. He pivoted, immediately started pumping his legs to get some speed, determined to get the puck – and did. Sliding sideways, hesprayed a fan of ice and used that brief crevice in the ice to push off, bursting in the other direction, only to have the puck stolen again.

Dang it!

And saw Thibodeaux’s stick fly upward as he chopped down at the puck – sending it flying in his direction. The black disc was launched angrily in his direction, and the last conscious thought Travis had was, ‘this is gonna leave a mark…’ as pain exploded behind his eyes.

He slumped boneless, down onto the ice.

Travis groanedas he was jostled around, trying to take an assessment of his body and what had just happened. Obviously, he’d taken a puck straight to the face. He could taste blood, smell the scent of it mixed with his own musky sweat, and his ears were ringing fiercely.

“Giroux! Giroux! Hey, son, can you hear me?” The coach was there beside him, which meant he wasn’t on the ice anymore. He was either headed to the locker room for assessment – or the emergency room.

“Whaaaa happened?” Travis managed to choke out and it sounded awfully nasally even to his own ears as he coughed and felt something dislodge in his mouth. That was a disgusting sensation, especially mixed with the salty taste gagging him.

“Mon frere…”Travis heard as a hand grasped his, hanging on tightly.Theo. “Are you okay?”

“I told you two morons to pick one or the other and WEAR IT! Bird cage or fishbowl, I don’t care, but cover your faces!” the coach was screaming angrily. “Where’s the equipment manager? I’m gonna have his job over this one!”

“Theo?” he uttered and spat up blood, cracking an eye. “Pick… a… smaller…guy next time,” he whispered and heard Theo’s choked laugh that sounded almost emotional.

“You got it,bonhomme…”

The lights were whizzing overhead, and he was flinching in reaction to each one, hearing the chaos around him.

“Giroux, I’ve called your uncle, and he’s gonna meet us at the ER… are you with me, son?” the coach was saying, and his whole face felt like it was on fire.

He wasn’t sure how fast that puck was going, but one thing for certain: something wasn’t right and definitely broken. Anytime you passed out on the ice, they sent you to get checked, especially if they suspected something more - just to be on the safe side. Each bump sent a flash of burning pain to his nose.

Hockey was a violent sport.

Travis had been cut by another guy’s blade before on his left shoulder and had his right one dislocated a few years ago. Gerry had a scar on the back of his head where he was nearly scalped in a fight once when he used his helmet to wallop another player – and slipped. There was a reason his hair was long and shaggy now. Even Theo had a slice in one of his eyebrows, leaving a line. They were a rough bunch, and he loved them like family.

“Becca… oh gosh…” he choked out, realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to text or call her after the game if he was going to the emergency room. It would be on the news that someone got injured seriously, and he didn’t want her to worry – especially if he missed their date tomorrow.

“Pour quewhat? Because? Because of what,mon frere?”

“Nooo… RAAA-Becca,” he enunciated, chuckling and spitting blood out of his mouth as he cracked open an eye to look at Theo, realizing they were getting in the ambulance. “It’s English… and her name.”

“I’m French – and I’ve got your phone,” Theo grinned. “I’ll let ‘er know.”

CHAPTER 8

BECCA

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