Page 109 of Going All In

“It hurts when you lie like that, Harty. Now can we grab some food? I’m starving and Pookie here needs his steak and lobster,” Baz said, using Jake’s new nickname gleefully.

Darcy was definitely going to pay for that later. Not that he minded it, when all was said and done. At least it was a nickname he’d sort of picked for himself.

***

“Come on, Dom,you got this,” Baz yelled out from the bench the following night. Dom was battling for a puck in the corner, a Vancouver defenseman and forward were on him, trying to get the puck away.

The Strikers were down by one with eight minutes left in the second period. If they could pull this out, they would sweep and head up with a week off before the next playoff round started. There were pros and cons to that much time off in the postseason, but the more games they played, the more injuries could happen, along with pure exhaustion, so Jake would gladly take the break.

Dom broke free and skated around the back of the net, his focus on the goal. Before he could make his shot, he was shoved into the boards and fell to the ice, with Vancouver stealing the puck and heading down toward Gally in the Strikers’ net.

Jake shot up along with his teammates and yelled at the ref as one of them blew their whistle, halting the play. Dom was moving and was already sitting up on the ice, which caused a collective sigh of relief on the bench.

As two trainers rushed across the ice to him, Jake watched the replay on the jumbotron.

“Fucking hell,” Harty said as they played the hit again. It was a dirty hit, and Dom was lucky he hadn’t slammed his head into the boards.

Cheesy was on the ice arguing with the ref as the Vancouver defenseman who hit Dom was sent to the penalty box.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That fucker is only getting two minutes for that hit,” Jake yelled.

“That was not a clean hit. How the fuck was that a regular hit?” Baz yelled as the ref made the call over the speaker.

The crowd reacted with cheers and boos depending on what color jersey they had on, and Dom was cursing a blue streak as he slowly skated toward the bench.

“Beat their fucking asses,” Dom growled as he stopped at the door to the bench. “And I’m fine.”

He followed one of the trainers down the tunnel. Concussion protocol would have him in a dark room for a while.

“You heard the man. Let’s beat their asses,” Baz roared before he hopped over the boards for his shift.

“You heard the man,” Harty said, following the defenseman onto the ice.

“Don’t go after him,” Bugsy said, his hand on Jake’s shoulder, his expression clear as to which him he was referring to.

“Wasn’t planning on it, Coach. Just going to get one of the goals you’re always asking for,” Jake said.

Bugsy nodded. “Good. Try for at least two, yeah?”

Jake grinned and hopped over the boards. He would play the game he was supposed to. His priorities were straight and he would not take any needless penalties.

But if he managed to get a clean hit on the guy that sent Dom down the tunnel, there was nothing wrong with that.

The game got chippier after that, but Jake kept his head down and focused on the puck, snagging one goal at the start of the third period. Harty sank another one in the back of the net five minutes later.

And with the final buzzer blaring, they swept Vancouver.

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