Page 135 of The Stud

It’s bad enough my ass is about to get a major for fighting and possibly a minor for instigating.

I don’t need to guarantee the latter.

With only thirty seconds left in the period, the zebra escorts me to our tunnel as opposed to the box to the sound of thousands of people chanting “ra” and echoes of sticks being clapped in approval of my brainless decision.

Which it was.

That was all instinct.

Not calculated.

Not controlled.

Not anything I’m fuckingknownfor.

Not anything I fuckingtrainfor.

Lazily tossing my bucket near my seat precedes me ditching my mouthguard in lingering irritation that I can’t seem to settle.

What the fuck is my problem?

I beat the shit out of Layvon.

I beat the shit out of Layvon in a sold-out stadium.

I protected my team.

My mates.

The adrenaline in my system should be decreasing not idling.

What do I bloody need?!

To piss?

Hydration?

A fucking Snickers?

Grumbles accompany me plopping down to shed my skates, the action being done in hopes of alleviating some of the strain in my system I can’t seem to shake.

By the time the boys and Coach come filing in, I expect to be simmered down yet am somehowstillat the same level of unsettled I was when I first left the ice.

“Howe hat trick, boys!” animatedly announces Wahl. “Goal, assist, and a fight all in one game! Clap him in!”

Stick taps on the floor to applaud the rarity for a player – and what I envision to be not only my first but only – are attached to more ras reverberating around the room in approval as I remove my upper gear.

I manage to catch a single nod of gratitude from Matty on the opposite side split seconds before Cap is removing his mouthguard and flopping into his stall beside me. “Problem?”

Uncertainty of how to answer leads to me remaining silent.

“Ty vyglyadish' stranno.” He catches the tossed half a sando to him with his left, now gloveless hand and grunts, “Like you’ve got the jitzkies, aye.”

“Yes, but I do not knowwhy.”

“It’s your fight or fuck response,” one of the Goonie Tunes declares after running a towel across his face.

“What?”

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