Page 19 of Mine

Shit.

I let my anger fuel me as I skated onto the ice. Gomez passed me the puck and we skated fast to the goal. We passed it back and forth working together, for once. Hope burned through me that this might be it, this was what we had been working towards.

As I passed it to him, he missed the catch, and it was stolen from him. I growled, getting angrier because if they scored here, then I was going to be pissed. Leave it up to Gomez to fuck it up. Webber ended up stealing, passed it to Gomez and my frustration was at an all-time high.

Then, someone body checked Gomez hard enough that his head snapped back, his feet flew up and his helmet came off. I immediately saw red, body checking the asshole who had hit him, letting all my anger out. We dished out punches until we fell on my bad shoulder.

I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. I was still holding onto him, punching wildly until I was pulled away by someone. The ref got in my face, and I was sent to the sin bin. Gomez wasn’t on the ice anymore and for a moment I was worried he had gotten a concussion. That is, until I spotted him at the bench with a cut along the bridge of his nose.

He looked pissed as the doctor checked on him, but he was watching the game and it looked like he was searching for the guy who had body checked him. As I was in jail, they scored and when I was let out of the sin bin, I raced out again, the adrenaline of the fight still with me. There was only a minute and a half left and we were so fucking close to winning. We desperately needed it, except that was not in the cards for us tonight; they sank one more goal. It was such a close game it stung more than it should have.

We reluctantly said “good game” and as I got off the ice, Gomez was right behind me. The urge to start shit was itching at me, but I thought better of it, maybe I needed to take a differentapproach because this was not working for us and we needed to start winning.

“Maybe the next practice we can work on?—”

“Don’t fucking start with me, Riggs,” he snapped, walking past me.

“Hey, I’m trying to be helpful?—”

“Since fucking when?” He turned around and got into my face. “All you do is fucking nitpick when you fuck up too, man. I don’t need your shit tonight. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’m trying?—”

“No, this isn’t you trying, this is you feeling superior,” he snarled, pushing me back.

“Guys, stop,” someone said.

“I fucking got put in the sin bin because of you, a thank you would be nice, you entitled little shit.” I pushed him back.

“I don't need you to fight my fights especially if you throw them in my face afterward.” He grabbed my jersey. “So, save me whatever hero complex you have and go fuck yourself.”

“Maybe if you played well I wouldn’t have to be saving your ass,” I growled, pushing him away, but he didn’t budge.

“Guys, seriously.”

“Oh, fuck you. You think putting Bennet on the line with you is going to make it better? You’re an ass to work with and we know it’s not all my fault,” he sneered. “You’re washed up.”

“At least I don’t have to be embarrassed with my shitty playing where everyone has to pick up your slack and fight your battles because you fucking suck at playing hock….” I hadn’t finished saying hockey when he sucker-punched me.

I pushed him, throwing a punch he blocked, getting another hit in before I tackled him to the ground, and I straddled his hips punching him in the face, rearing back for another hit when I was hauled off him.

“Stop!” Cap yelled glaring at us. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but coach’s office now!”

Gomez and I were breathing hard, the cut on the bridge of his nose was bleeding along with his lip. We glared at each other before he scoffed and turned around to leave. I looked around at my teammates who had varying degrees of disappointment and anger on their faces. The last person I expected to see was looking at Gomez, who was walking away. Valencia then turned her hazel eyes at me, she shook her head before walking away from the crowd.

Guilt hit me hard, harder than seeing anyone else’s disappointment and I don’t know why. We walked into the locker room, and I headed to my locker to at least get my skates off before I got my ass reamed by my coach.

“Riggs, get your fucking ass in my office,” Coach Trevino said, red in the face.

I took a deep breath before I followed him. He stood aside letting me into the office first and mumbled something about losing patience.

“I don’t know what beef you guys have or what the hell is going on, but you need to pull your head out of your asses or one of you is getting benched,” he snapped, walking around his desk.

Gomez scoffed.

“You have something to say, Gomez?” Coach glared at him.

“You mean bench me, sir, because we both know you wouldn’t bench our veteran,” he clipped.

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