Page 51 of The Import Slot
“I think he’s trying to figure out which of us fucked his girl,” I say as I swing my legs back over the boards.
It’s not long until Rodgers is back on the ice himself and as soon as he’s got possession of the puck, I check him into the boards harder than I usually would. Skating off with the puck, I’m about to reach the blue line when a force fires me forward, and someone pulls at my jersey. I lose my balance and topple over, falling on my ass, luckily, not my back, but I’m up in seconds to see Rodgers sailing past me with the puck.
Johnny and Bettsy are all over him, and he fails a slapshot but catches Bettsy on the cheek with the butt end of his stick.
“Let’s go, motherfucker!” Bettsy shouts, throwing his stick down, but Rodgers cross-checks him, the shaft of his stick almost at Bettsy’s throat. Bettsy flies backwards and narrowly misses banging his head as he folds by the neck at the edge of the ice.
The crowd is loud, and Johnny is pissed. Hell, we all are. Johnny pulls Rodgers away.
“Get the fuck away, boys. We’re not fighting today,” Johnny yells.
The whistle blows, and we skate back to the bench and watch as they guide Rodgers to the box for a mere two minutes.
“That fucking fella is doing my head in,” Danny says, leaning back and talking to me behind Scottsy.
I lean back to reply. “You’re not the only one.”
“Did you hear what he just said to me before all that? He reckons Rochelle’s been at it with more than just Bettsy. Was it you?” Danny asks. “Because he’s gunning for you, too.”
I’m about to reply when I hear yelling. Turning my head toward the noise, I see Matt Rodgers and one of his buddies pinning our third-line centre, Jasper Pritchard, to the boards. They’ve sandwiched him in, and the ref takes a shitload of no notice. Pritchy holds his own, though, and ducks low to get free, knocking the puck from his skate over to the waiting winger, who dumps it deep around the boards back toward Pritchy. The puck hits him in the leg and he misses catching it with his stick, sending the play offside.
Scott, Jani, and I line up to take the next face-off in the neutral zone, and as soon as Jani wins it, he sends it back to Bettsy, who one-times it with success this time, the goal horn ringing. We all surround him and give him head pats, and he skates to the bench before joining the ranks.
Danny and Scottsy each scored in the second. Matt Rodgers assisted a goal, but we kept a two-goal lead.
Everyone is hyped up in the dressing room during the second intermission. There’s a buzz in the air, and Johnny offers words of encouragement before he settles back down for a breather.
There’s no mention of Matt Rodgers and his vendetta though. Everyone is sick of talking about it, by the sounds of it.
I check my phone and see a message from my brother.
Liam:Can you talk?
Ryan:Dude, I’m playing.
Liam:Shit, yeah, I’ll try you later.
I toss my phone back down but see a flash of a text from my dad as it lands. I grab it and open his message.
Dad:Please tell me that photo on your social media isn’t you and a girlfriend. Focus on hockey and lay off the bunnies.
I toss my phone again, pissed off this time. Jen is not a bunny, not even a little bit of one. I’ve got rage bubbling through my veins from my dad’s message, and I’m ready to take it out on the ice should Rodgers skate my way again.
Johnny stands up and signals for everyone to head out.
“Let’s keep the lead, boys.”
Chapter 15
Jenna
Ilovehockeyfights,just not when they involve someone I know and care about. Both Ryan and Danny sit in the box, two minutes each for roughing, and the opponent’s #43, Matt Rodgers, gets two himself for the same.
There had been a lot of words thrown back and forth, but this time, things got more physical.
Ryan got checked from behind, his body thudding into the boards. Danny retaliated, grabbing the guy by the jersey and throwing him away. By that point, Ryan was back up and heading toward Rodgers with fury in his eyes. After a few pushes and shoves, the refs were involved, pulling them all apart and pointing at the penalty box. I’m antsy now as I watch the time tick down on the five-on-four penalty kill, and I’m grateful that defence saves the day.
I watch Ryan and Danny skating out of the box, and Rodgers shouts something as he glides across the ice back to the bench. Danny spits a reply as he swings his legs over the boards to sit down, words still flying back and forth between the two benches.
