Page 92 of Taylor

He was on fire.

The buzzer sounded, and it was the end of the second period, 2–1.

“Hey, Taylor,” Coach said as they made their way back to the locker room for the break. “I think they want you for a media spot.”

Taylor’s eyes went wide. Yes, they usually talked to a player during the game, but it was usually Conner, sometimes Wes or Cash. Not Taylor.

“Can you do it?”

Taylor’s eyes were big. The pressure to say yes was heavy, but he also knew he needed to focus if he wanted to keep playingthe game he was playing. Luckily, Coach Wagner always had his back.

“I’ll get Conner to do it,” he said, patting him on the back as they headed into the locker room. “But you keep this up, and you’ll have to talk to them after the game as the star of the night.”

“It’s not done yet,” Taylor said as he made his way into the locker room and popped in his earbuds.

The pressure flared, and he didn’t like it.

Florida came off the break, ready to win. When their back was up against the wall, Florida was a dangerous team, and with rivalry that had been building up between them, both teams wanted this game bad.

Right off the jump, they won the face-off and scored an equalizer in the first twenty seconds. Taylor and Cash were on the bench. Taylor’s eyes were on the puck.

“Watch out for Nordic. He’s pushing. Malone is still gonna take those slap shots,” said Taylor as they watched the game.

After a rush at their net, the whistle sounded, and he knew before anything was said that Sven was going into the box for a blatant tripping call.

“What the fuck?” Coach yelled behind the bench. “Get the PK ready, guys.”

As they were getting ready, Nordic skated past them. “Hey, Conner, you still fucking your socials girl? I saw some pictures. I’d tap that when you’re done with her.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Conner said, going chest-to-chest with the guy.

The ref skated in and broke it up. The game was ramping up, and he could feel it.

They started the penalty kill, and Taylor was looking for ways to settle it down. He was by the net, and one of their forwards skated toward the back of the net. Taylor poked the puck and was able to get it away. He sent it up to Conner, who was near theblue line. Conner knew what the fuck to do and was off to the net for a shorthanded goal.

It was tied again. Florida was fucking bringing it. In the next play, Malone gave Cash a high stick to the face. A scrum was forming around them as the refs were pulling them apart Nordic skated by and slashed Conner in the knee, and he went down.

Taylor saw fucking red. They were out of contention last year because Florida pulled some dirty shit on the ice, and it was not happening again. While Cash tended to do the fighting, Taylor could hold his own.

Without thinking, he threw off his gloves, grabbed Nordic by the jersey, and pulled him out of the scrum. They squared up. In seconds, Nordic had his gloves off, and Taylor landed a strong punch to his jaw. Before he knew it, his face was throbbing, but Nordic was on the ice, blood coming from somewhere. He was taken off the ice as Taylor was guided to the penalty box. Five for fighting was worth it. He met Cash in the penalty box. Cash had a two-minute roughing minor for something in the scrum, and the other team ended up with 5 for fighting and 2 other minors.

“I love a full penalty box,” Cash said, skating in to join. “Dude, you fucked him up.”

Taylor just nodded, his eyes still on the ice. His adrenaline was pulsing through him as he squirted water in his mouth.

“Taylor,” Cash said, and Taylor turned to him as the game started. “You just got a fucking Gordie Howe. And you did it before me. How the fuck did that happen?”

“Oh... I did, didn’t I? It’s because I’m better than you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cash said, shaking his head, but the smirk never left his face.

Taylor got back to the game with a small smile. A Gordie Howe is a goal, an assist and a fight-in-one game. While they weren’t unheard of, they were rare. Taylor sighed in relief asConner skated back on the ice, luckily that dirty slash didn’t cause injury.

The game was rough. Florida wasn’t letting up, but they also weren’t able to score, but neither were they. They were sitting tied at 3–3. They made it through the 3–3 sudden death, only to find themselves in a shootout. They had each hit one and missed the rest. Taylor wasn’t usually on their shootout team. When you were a defenseman on a team of some of the league’s top scorers, it didn’t always happen. Yet he was on fire and one goal away from an actual hat trick.

“Taylor, I want you out there in Sven’s spot,” Coach called.

“Seriously?” Sven protested.

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