Page 5 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

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CHARLIE

“Let ‘er rip, Charlie.” Austin’s voice screamed over the ice.

I didn’t need his encouragement as I slapped the puck hard enough to send a couple guys to the ice. They dove after the puck, sticks scraping ice and coming up empty. “Too late.” I shouted at Brian, who’d face-planted with his arms straight out in front of him. He skimmed over the ice until he crumpled against the wall.

Austin shook his head and skated over. “Again?”

“Sure.” I shrugged despite the weight of my hockey gear. “Or we could show them how it’s done.”

A devilish gleam lit Austin’s eyes. He’d been my best friend long enough that I knew the look inside and out. “Duncan, Patrick, let’s go.” He raised his hockey stick overhead and pumped his arm up and down. “Everyone else, hit the bench and watch how it’s done.”

“It’s our first practice of the off season.” Brian grumbled on his way past. “Give us a break, yeah?”

Duncan shoulder-checked the younger guy, his lips peeled back in a nasty snarl. “You want a break? I’ll give you one sure to keep you on that bench all season.” His thick, Irish brogue twisted the words.

Brian blanched white as new snow. “Sorry, Duncan.”

Duncan snorted. “Get off the feckin’ ice.”

“Let the pros have a go.” Patrick skated past in a wicked blur of motion.

Pride settled in deep. We were so close to winning last season. No way we’d fuck it up this time since Duncan joined us.

Patrick scooped the puck from the net and took it around the rink. Austin and I trailed behind him. One look at Austin, a twitch of my head, and he raced past Patrick, taking the puck and slapping it over to me. I spun so fast ice sprayed beneath my skates and reared back for another blistering slice.

My stick connected with the puck, a crack echoing across the rink with the hit.

Duncan caught the puck inches from the goal and whaled on it, sending it back to Patrick. His arms pumped, his trajectory bringing him toward me at top speed.

I ducked, tucked, then surged upward, catching Duncan in the gut and hurling him over my back. He landed with a thud that should’ve knocked the breath out of him, but Duncan was an all-out brawler. He leaped up and came after me again.

Austin cut between us. “Whoa, man. That’s enough.”

Duncan eyed me, his green eyes blistering. The stadium quieted to nothing but the roar of blood in my ears and the unchecked anger in Duncan. He was as talented as ever, but that anger of his had gotten him in trouble a few too many times.

“Save it for the real games.” I warned him quick, hoping to mitigate the potential disaster. If Duncan started fighting with us, he’d be off the team for good. We needed him. He fit with me, Austin, and Patrick on the ice, and the four of us were good enough to take this season all the way…if Duncan could keep a lid on his temper. “We need you here. Those rookies can’t get us the cup.” I lifted a finger to point, not at him but at the flags hanging from the rafters. “We want our names up there.”

Duncan blinked and the anger ebbed. “Right.” He spun around, that single word as close to an apology as I was likely to get.

Austin whistled and the rest of the guys poured back onto the ice. We set up two teams of six for a skirmish, though Brian complained we were taking advantage with the four of us on one side and all the rookies on the other. Austin ignored the griping and we practiced until sweat poured down our faces and my legs turned weak as water. Dream team or not, we still had to practice, and I wasn’t about to be the guy asking for a break.

Coach joined us at the sidelines. “Hit the showers. Duncan, in my office.”

Duncan made a face and yanked off his helmet and gloves on his way to the bench where we all removed our skates before stomping down the cold corridor and into the locker room.

Whatever Coach wanted to talk to Duncan about was none of my business, but I shot him a sympathetic wince when he passed me.

He shrugged one shoulder, the gesture careless, but he followed Coach with his head bowed.

“Shit.” I muttered under my breath and caught up to Austin. “Think he’s getting fired?”

“Nah.” Austin slung an arm over my shoulders. “Chin up, Charlie.” He sang it just like in the movie, and I punched him in the kidney hard enough to draw out an oof as he backed off with his hands raised. “Okay. Okay.”

Patrick turned and walked backward down the corridor. “What’s the matter with Charlie? Did he get upset because I stole his shot?”

“Who stole who’s shot?” I cleaned out my ear with one finger, wiggling it back and forth. “Pretty sure I stole yours, playboy.”

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