Page 151 of Waiting Game

Kyle gets sent to the sin bin, leaving it up to Liam and me to kill this penalty while trying to even the score.

With us trailing by one, I refuse to let this fucking game head to overtime.

Tampa Bay wins the face off, but it’s like Liam and I are playing with the same brain. He swerves around one of the forwards, getting in his face, as I sweep to the side and sneak the puck out from under his nose, tipping it through their goalie’s legs.

The crowd roars as it hits the back of the net and a barrage of Stars’ players jump on me—these are the best kinds of hugs.

But a sharp whistle sounds, cutting our celebrations short.

We look for the source and see it’s Gracie. She’s practically vibrating in the mouth of tunnel—Coach had a massive hissy fit the last time she was behind the bench.

Noticing she has our attention, she sticks her fingers in front of her eyes and points it to Liam.

I’ve no idea what any of that means, but he apparently does and nods in understanding.

Everyone’s confused but with Gracie as the big boss, it’s becoming par for the course.

I can tell some of the defense are annoyed at her interference when Liam calls for a time-out.

As we huddle together, Gagné demands, “What the hell’s the GM doing?”

“What Bradley’s too chicken shit to,” Liam derides. “Okay, we need to rile them up and Cole’s the way to do that.”

I don’t bother arguing with him—he’s right. “Berg’s got a massive problem with me since I told him that he needed to stop checking out my ass.”

McIsaac blinks. “You told him that?”

Liam snickers. “That’s why he hates you?”

“One of the many reasons why.”

“Be the pest that you are,” Liam prods. “Distract him.”

Contemplatively, I chew on my guard. “However I want?”

“Aside from mooning him, yeah,” he warns, earning a bunch of chuckles from the rest of the team. When my eyes grow round with the promise, he quickly tacks on, “And anything that’ll get your big ass hauled into the box.”

Pouting, I mumble, “Honored my big ass is.”

“Kick it with the Yoda shit. Look, Berg’s the only one on their offense who’s worth anything. We fuck with his head, we can maybe gain some ground and keep those two points for ourselves.”

That’s when he breaks out a quick play that’s not in the playbook we study like it’s a Bible.

He finishes by rallying, “Let’s take care of business, guys.”

My brow puckers at how well he laid down the law but the others look uneasy.

“Hey, he’s our captain,” I holler, elbowing Deschamps a couple times until he glowers at me. “In Liam, we trust, right?”

Apparently, I said that louder than I thought because the front rows start chanting it.

Liam shakes his head as the chants turn into an outright roar but he ignores it to call, “We got this. RIGHT?”

As he receives a bunch of wary nods, we break out. A few look at Bradley, who’s bright pink with rage at having ‘time out’ called without his approval, but somehow, that seems to seal his fate.

We glance at each other, smirk, and tip our chins in accordance.

That’s when I line up at center ice, ready to win the draw.

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