Page 11 of Mine

The Bulldogs took control of the puck and Gomez hit the player against the board, taking the puck and passing it to me, except he overshot and the puck went flying past me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted, as we headed back for a line change.

Gomez was in front of me and I was ready to bash his head in the boards, tired of his shit. The Coach said something to Gomez, but I knew he was coddling him, everyone did. It was the third period and we were down by one. All we needed were two goals, but I’d settle for going into overtime.

With one minute on the clock, we switched lines, and I raced towards the puck, stealing it from one of the defensemen. I passed it to Webber, and he raced towards the goal, out-maneuvering the other defenseman. Gomez was open, but I was praying he didn’t pass it to him; unfortunately, Webber still hadfaith in Gomez. He slapshot it and missed, but he was clipped by one of the other guys. The goalie blocked it and he tried to shoot it again. He blocked it again as the buzzer sounded.

I slapped my stick against the ice as fury burned through me. Another fucking loss, and at this point, I didn’t think we were going to get any better. I begrudgingly told the other team, “good game”, exchanging some pleasantries with a few guys I had played with. I was about to get off the ice when Gomez ran into me.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” I snarled, pushing him. “Maybe if you actually paid attention, we might have gone into overtime.”

I knew I shouldn’t have said that, but I was tired of losing, Gomez got on my nerves and I was grouchy as hell.

“Fuck you, Riggs,” he snapped, pushing me back. “I’d like to see you make that goal.”

“I would have,” I sneered, pushing him again. “I can at least make a pass without fucking it up.”

“Whatever, grandpa,” he clipped, pushing me even harder. “If you are so good, why do you keep getting passed around like bad leftovers?”

“Whatever, rookie, you won’t last a few years playing as shitty as you do.” I dropped my stick ready to punch him when someone caught my arm getting in between us.

“Not on the fucking ice,” Cap growled.

My stick was shoved against my chest as I watched Cap dragging Gomez to the locker room. A few guys walked by me, shaking their heads, and even though I knew I was being an asshole, Gomez deserved it.

I followed the last guy, and caught Valencia looking at me with disappointment. Clenching my jaw, I didn’t know why her expression made me feel guilty.

“Hey, Hunter,” she said, walking in front of me.

“Valencia,” I said, trying to seem unphased.

“I have a reporter who would like a quick interview,” she said, looking up at me with her big hazel eyes. “Six questions max, but don’t be surprised if she asks about your little stunt there.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew that it was my turn for an interview. Of course I picked this day to start shit with Gomez.

“Ok,” I said, resigning myself to a brutal interview. “Where is Monica from PR?”

“Come on, big guy,” she said, pushing me towards the press area. “She had to leave early so right now, I’m stepping in for her.”

A woman stood there with a cameraman looking annoyed and bored. As soon as she heard us coming, she quickly put a smile on her face, looked between Valencia and me before landing her gaze back on me. It was an expression I knew all too well and I wasn’t in the mood to flirt during a quick interview.

“Hello, Hunter Riggs,” she said, a little too seductively.

“Good evening—” I said, giving her a chance to tell me her name.

“Oh,” she blushed a little. “Rhonda Masters.”

She held out her hand for me to shake and my hockey stick was taken from me by Valencia. Rhonda gave Valencia a sneer that quickly went away. I shook her hand, not liking the look she gave Valencia who wasn’t even paying attention, messing around with her camera.

“Ok, so I was going to start with a few lighter questions and then hit with the heavier questions.” She grabbed her microphone.

“Remember, six questions,” Valencia said, looking through her camera while taking a shot.

“I was told there was no limit,” she said with a fake smile.

“The memo I have here says six,” Valencia said, pulling out a piece of paper.

“I think she is right, I remember hearing six?—”

---