Page 121 of On Ice

“But, I want mytrophy.”

He starts to speak, but he stops. Narrowing his eyes, he says, “You’re just yanking my chain, aren’t you?”

I grin. “What gave me away?”

He punches my arm, laughing. “You asshole. You had me going.”

I rub my arm where he hit me. “I know. It was great.”

“You’ll pay for that.” He chuckles and straddles me, looking boyish and happy.

“Yes, please.” I grab his hips, grinding against his ass. “Make mepay.”

He shakes his head. “How is it possible that I love you? You’re the same man who came into my life and made it hell, and yet you’re not.”

“I’m a very complex individual,” I deadpan.

He rests his hands on either side of my head, staring into my eyes. “And yet, I truly do love you. I can’t wrap my head around that.”

“And I truly love you.” I try not to laugh as I add, “And if you have trouble wrapping your head around that, I have something else you could wrap your mouth around.”

“God,” he groans. “You’re such an arrogantasshole.” He grins and lowers his head to kiss me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Evan

The season continues and we win a home game against the Tampa Bay Thunders, but then we lose our away game against the Washington Capitals. After that we win another home game against the Pittsburgh Phantoms, but now we have to face the Buffalo Rampage in anawaygame.

The pressure is brutal.

Every player on the team is now convinced we can’t win away games. As we skate onto the ice at the KeyBank Center in Buffalo, I swear even Coach looks like he thinks we can’t pull this game off. Road games have become our personal house of horrors.

“You’re going down, Riley,” someone shouts as I circle near the boards. “Ice Hawks suck!”

I keep my eyes forward, focusing on the crisp sound of my skates carving the fresh ice. The familiar pre-game tension coils in my stomach, but tonight it’s different, sharper, more urgent. We can’t afford another road loss. Not if we want to keep our postseason dreams alive.

“Feel good?” Rodriguez asks, gliding up beside me as we finish our warm-up laps.

“Feel ready,” I lie, watching Buffalo’s captain, Kowalski, fire pucks into the top corner of their net. He’s got five goals in his last three games. Torres and Mills will have their hands full tonight.

Back in the locker room, Coach Daniels keeps his pre-game speech brief. “They’re going to come out hitting. Match their intensity, but don’t get sucked into their game. Play smart, play our system.”

The buzzer calls us to the ice. As we line up for the national anthems, I scan the Buffalo roster across from us. They’re big, average size at least two inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than us. Their game plan will be simple: punish us physically, force turnovers, capitalize.

The puck drops, and immediately I’m engaged in a battle with Kowalski. He wins it clean, kicking the puck back to their defenseman, Baranov. Torres steps up, pinching Baranov against the boards before he can advance the puck. Good start, aggressive but controlled.

Buffalo establishes their forecheck early, finishing every check, making us pay for each zone exit. Five minutes in, Deck takes a thunderous hit from their enforcer, Calhoun, but stays on his skates, clearing the puck up to Jackson who carries it through the neutral zone.

“On your right,” I call, driving toward the net as Jackson navigates around a Buffalo defender.

He threads a perfect pass through the seam, and suddenly I’m alone with the goalie, Vitek. I go forehand-backhand, trying to get him moving laterally, but he reads it, flashing his pad to deny me.

“Next time, Captain,” he says with a smirk as I skate past.

The first period is a chess match, neither team giving an inch. Noah makes a spectacular glove save on Buffalo’s top scorer, Wilson, robbing him from point-blank range. TheBuffalo crowd groans collectively, then quickly resumes their hostility.

With two minutes left in the period, disaster strikes. Mills pinches too aggressively at their blue line, and Buffalo’s speedy winger Henderson springs free on a breakaway. Noah comes out to challenge, but Henderson’s shot finds a hole, trickling through his five-hole.

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