Page 15 of Born of Ice

My anger only simmers some more as I realize that once again, I’ve let down my own team. “Two goals! Fucking Yanis Zima scored two goals, and you are a bloody idiot who didn’t see what he intended to do from the start! They needed you out of the way and now they have it.”

Whatever rage was slowly dissipating from my veins is back. Oh, it’s so back. I turn around abruptly and smash my fist in the cabinet, splitting my knuckles. “You didn’t hear what he was saying,” I grit out, clutching the wood in front of me.

Every chance he had, he threw snide remarks my way. None of them made much sense but each one made me more and more pissed.

“I don’t give a damn what he was saying! This is the NHL, not high school, and I thought I taught you better than that. The game is not about you, Exton! It’s about the bloody team, and tonight your efforts made their night that much harder. Good job!”

I hear a faint “prick” trickle in from someone in the back.

Damn it, there goes that guilt, and I release it the only way I know. I smash my fist into the cabinet again and again until I feel my own blood dripping down and the disapproving eyes of my teammates drilling into the back of my head.

“Enough, Axe.” Severin pulls me back.

“No, why did you stop him, Minaev? He’s paying for that anyway, might as well let him enjoy it,” Coach says sarcastically and then mumbles, “Un-fucking-believable. This is your last chance, Quinn, you got it?” And walks out the door.

“And the second period is off to a hasty start with Outlaws winning the toss up. Goram flying past the Devils, pass to Zlatan, pass back to Goram.”

“Goram couldn't hold on to it. It's jammed on the near side. Goram played it to Fooley. Shot. No, Silverstone fought it off. Ice Devils will now push it deep into Outlaws zone.”

“Goram is back on the puck but Zima intercepts it slamming Goram into the wall.”

“Zima in possession as he drags it into the neutral zone. Oooo, that’s Quinn for you. He swipes it right out from Zima.”

“Zlatan is open with a clear path to shoot. Zima is back on Quinn. Eh, it doesn't look like it's about the puck anymore. Quinn pushes Zima away, still in possession of the puck.”

“Whoa! That's a penalty right there.”

“Yep. Zima cross-checked Quinn with a stick right in the face. Refs are flying but I think it’s too late. Quinn is off.”

“Oh, oh, here they go! This was brewing in the air since the start of the game. Quinn’s gloves are flying off as he takes a swing at Zima.”

“Ohhh, that’s a hard hit.”

The crowd is roaring, the Plexiglass around the perimeter shaking violently as they keep banging on it.

“The helmets are off. And that’s a split lip and I think an eyebrow as well on Zima’s face.”

“Quinn got a handful of his jersey. The hits keep coming as Quinn holds Zima down.”

“This has gotten out of control. I haven’t seen this in a long time!”

“You can expect something will be done about it, no doubt.”

“That’s Minaev going at Finnigan. Goalie on goalie. And now everyone is fighting. Ohhhh.”

“As much as I love seeing the good old days come back, this is something that the NHL is trying to get rid of and we are sure to expect a lot of suspensions coming from this fight.”

“And, well, Quinn’s future is murky at best now…”

I run my bloody knuckles against the door and get a tired “Come in, Quinn” in return.

My game finished a lot sooner than I wanted it to. But the game for everyone else just wrapped up an hour ago. We lost, and I, along with the rest of the team, know who’s to blame. The second that buzzer sounded, I wanted to get the fuck out of the arena as soon as I could, get wasted and laid and forget about my screw ups but Coach demanded my presence in his office. So I had to sit, wait, and endure the interview, the questions, and sneers from the fans. While the puck bunnies were throwing themselves over me, offering to take care of me, clean my cuts, calm me…what the fuck did they know about calm?

I couldn’t hold it; I was throwing out “fucks” like that’s all I had in me. I’m not one to care what people think of me as a person, but I sure as hell do when it comes to me as a hockey player.

This is all I know. All I’ve ever been good at. I played for Vegas Blaze for a year, but Boston Outlaws have been my home since I returned here and there is a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach that it might not be for much longer.

I’ve fucked up one too many times this season. And I’ve fucked up Zima’s face bad enough tonight that it would be enough for anyone to kick me out.

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