Page 166 of Snap Shot

Luck pairs us at the faceoff circle.

“I've heard things about you, Kleinmann.”

The bastard huffs and smirks.

“Name suits you. Kleinmann: little man,” I chirp.

He doesn't bite. “Whatever.”

“Little man, little limp prick. Heard it's broken.”

His mouth guard goes loose from his snarl. “Where'd you hear that?”

“Word travels.”

“From that wannabe puck bunny, eh? Gotta steer clear of those.”

My pulse drums in my ears at a deafening volume, nostrils flaring and sucking in shallow gusts of cool air. Everything else mutes: the crowd, my confused, angry teammates. All I hear is coming from his stupid fucking mouth. Murder. Murder is a good option now.

“Fuck you. Let's go.”

The whistle blows.

“Did Indi tell you how desperate she was to be my cumslut?”

I get rid of my stick and gloves. So does he. There's no going back. I clinch his hockey sweater with my bare hand, falling for his baiting. No one talks about Indi like that and walks away clean. My fist crashes into the side of his head, knocking off his helmet. His jaw crunches from a jab as we spin and slide across the ice. He swings aimlessly, missing me several times.

“Too bad the bitch couldn't suck cock if her life depended on it,” he laughs through my hits, blood spilling down his cheek. I topple him over with a roar.

“Piece of shit!”

His hands fly to cover his head.

“Tiny dicked” —my fist lands on his eye— “motherfucker!” His cheek and chin take the next blows until the refs and captains pry us apart. Jaeg shoves my gear into my hands as the ref pushes me toward the penalty box.

“That’s enough. Go cool off, guys. Five minutes for both of you.”

“I should know,” Kleinmann keeps going. “The bitch opened that big mouth of hers for me anytime I wanted—”

Breaking free from the ref and tossing my shit aside, two strides close the distance between us and tackle him. “You’re fucking dead!”

In the scuffle, he manages to land one on my lip. I hurl bloody spit in his face before we both get thrown into the sin bin.

The flames of outrage continue to lick at my insides and my stick takes the brunt of the outrage, breaking into pieces from my rough slamming. When I look for Indi, her spot is empty.Fuck.

Coach yells with a threatening fist to the glass. I don't hear a damn thing he says. Kleinmann's filth repeats in my head.

“Go fucking do your job!” I scream back. He benches me for that.

Halfway through the first period, Kleinmann checks Wade behind the net. I have to be held back from jumping over the boards to help Jaeg, Olsen, and Szecze. They knock him around and end up in the box, too.

At intermission, I complain about not having played even a minute and almost throw hands with the GM. “One more fucking outburst and I swear you'll spend the rest of the night in the locker room.”

“Send me fucking home,” I seethe. “Ask me if I give a shit.”

“Get it together, Radek,” Jaeg pipes in. “The fuck has gotten into you?”

I get in his face. “You didn't hear what he said about—”

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