Page 25 of Face Off
She smiles as if she’s just won the Stanley Cup. “I’m not. I just know when to tell my best friend to pull her head out of her ass. Screw that no fraternization clause. You’re the owner’s daughter. You can do whatever and whomever the hell you want.”
She’s right and what I want is Brooks Miller.
Brooks
The first game of the season is insane. Anaheim comes out guns blazing as if it’s already playoff time. They’re a team fresh on a rebuild year, but you wouldn’t have guessed that by the way they’re playing. They’re fast, sharp, and calculated. A much different tune from the team they were last year that ended them last in their division. Not to mention the number of goons on the ice throwing our team into the boards is astonishing.
The time ticks away of the second period as I take my place back at the faceoff. Deane Powell has just scored a goal with an assist from Ivan Thorne. Deane’s a transplant from Washington, and Ivan is a rookie who we drafted from the Wisconsin-Superior. We’re up now 2-1, but it’s still too close for comfort. Tremblay readies himself on his side of the ice, staring me down with a smug expression written on his face. We’ve known each other since junior hockey, but we’ve always kind of been enemies more than teammates.
“Still can’t fucking keep up, pretty boy,” I snarl as I wait for the ref to drop the puck.
He smirks as he narrows his gaze. “That’s not what your sister said.”
I straighten my stance to approach him. He’s a cocky son of a bitch and knows exactly how to get under my skin. I open my mouth to say something but am cut short by the ref.
“Enough, Miller. Let’s get this game going,” he says, skating over with the puck.
He drops the puck, and Tremblay and I go at it. He unfortunately wins the puck and sends it to his right winger who is driving toward our goal but stops short when Channing cross checks him into the boards. Polston gains possession of the puck and skates toward their goal, passing it to me as I land in my sweet spot at the top of the crease. Winding back, I put all the power I have behind me and slap the puck, watching it as it glides over the left shoulder of the goalie and into the back of the goal. The bench goes wild as I lift my hands in the air for celebration. My line on the ice comes to me sharing our excitement for our now 3-1 lead.
“Let’s go!” I scream as I skate to the bench, fist bumping my teammates.
We reset at the faceoff, the ref dropping the puck again this time, resulting in my own win for the battle of the puck. I send it back to Thorne who rounds the back of the goal, stick handling the puck as he prepares for the play. He skates to the neutral zone, sending the puck to Powell. Powell battles it out against the boards with an Anaheim player before sending it deep into their zone. Coach signals for a line change as Anaheim resets for their play, but as I skate toward the bench, I’m cross checked unnecessarily. The brunt of the hit sends me to the ice as the refs blow the whistle. I don’t need to look to know that it’s Tremblay who’s at fault. I’m slow to get up, and when I do, I skate toward Tremblay who’s in a heated argument with the ref because he's being sent to the sin bin.
“Wanna try that again?” I say, sizing him up as the ref stands between us.
He lets out a low chuckle as he’s being pushed toward the penalty box. “I’ll be seeing you.”
I skate to the seat and take a bench right in front of Hayley. She has a concerned look on her gorgeous face. I grab my water bottle and squirt some in my mouth, then on my head. I continue to watch the second line on the ice. A slight tap on my shoulder distracts me momentarily as she hands me a towel and gets close to my ear.
Her warm breath fans my skin as the scent of coconut fills my senses. “Are you okay?” she asks, concerned.
I look at her with a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. Gosh, she’s so beautiful even when worry is sketched all over her face. The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the second period, breaking me from my trance. I nod at her and stand from the bench, making my way into the visiting locker room. Even though we’re up, the coach lays into our asses. He wants the Cup this year. We all do.
“Miller,” Coach barks. “I don’t give a fuck what Tremblay is saying to you out there. Keep your shit together. I need you on the ice, not in the fucking box.”
I nod before glancing over his shoulder at Hayley in the corner. She’s chewing on her left thumbnail, a nervous tick I’ve noticed she has. We all gear back up and head back to the ice for the final period. As I near Hayley and the door, I stop to pull her hand away from her mouth. My hand rubs small circles on the inside of her palm before I bring it to my lips and place a small kiss on her palm. Her breath hitches as she stares at me with wide eyes, realization hitting me that we’re still in the presence of the team, but who fucking cares.
I skate onto the ice, doing a few laps to get my bearings before skating to take my place on the bench. Coach has switched up the starting lines for this period, so I sit eagerly, knowing that any moment, my line could be pulled onto the ice.
Denizen passes across the ice to Sparrows who stickhandles the puck around the back of the net before shooting it over the goalie’s right shoulder. The buzzer goes off, signaling the first goal of the period. The guys celebrate on the ice before coming back to the bench to change up the lines. I take my spot at center ice as Tremblay does the same. He has a shit-eating grin stretched across his face as we wait for the ref.
“That new team doc of yours is pretty fucking hot,” he snarls as he looks in the direction of my team bench.
I look at Hayley, who’s anxiously chewing on her left thumbnail again. “How about you keep your opinions to yourself and play the fucking game you’re paid to play?”
He releases a chuckle as he stares at her, giving her body a once over. “You can’t say you’re not tapping that. I wonder how sweet that pussy of hers tastes.”
Fuck this. That right there’s where I draw the fucking line. Hayley isn’t a fucking bunny or some pawn that Tremblay can get his rocks off to. Hearing him talk about how sweet her pussy would taste, those words are enough for me to see red. I straighten my body as the ref skates to the middle, but before he gets a chance to drop the puck, I drop my gloves, signaling for him to man the fuck up.
As soon as he drops his gloves on the ice, I lunge at him, hitting him as hard as I can. Halloway and Polston skate behind me in an attempt to pull Tremblay and me apart, yet they get themselves into their own scuffle with the guys trying to pullback. Refs blow their whistles left and right as Tremblay and I continue to lay into one another.
The refs are finally able to pull us apart with some help. Sending both Tremblay and me to the sin bin. I wipe under my nose to remove the excess blood. It’s probably broken, but it wouldn’t be the first time that has happened. Hockey’s a rough sport. Most times after games, I’m battered and bruised and stiff beyond no end. I look up at the Jumbo Tron to see how much time is left on the power play. Tremblay sits in his box, doing the same, but he throws the occasional string of curses and insults my way.
The time runs down, and I’m standing ready to get back on the ice. As soon as they open the door, the puck flies past me, and I take off after it. My stick makes contact with the puck as I stickhandle it toward the opposing goal. I pass to Denizen who shoots the puck right between the goalie’s pads. The buzzer lights up, and the crowd, even though we’re playing an away game, goes wild. We all pile around Denizen before breaking apart. I skate to the bench and take a seat before squirting water into my mouth. My nose hurts, but nothing can stop me from riding the high of a 5-1 lead.
“Miller,” Coach yells. “Have Dr. Marshall look at your nose.”
I nod before standing from the bench, trudging off down the tunnel into the locker room. Hayley’s bent over her medical bag that she has placed on the bench. My eyes wander over her plump ass as I watch her pull a pair of gloves from the bag.
