Page 32 of Call the Shots
“Bear?” Fridge sighed. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for?—”
“Why do you care about King?” he pressed, slipping his face mask on. “You don’t know him. You’re purposely searching for rumors about a guy who’s done nothing to you.” The thin metal bars didn’t hide his look of disgust. “Is that how you want to spend your time? Don’t you have hobbies? Things to do?”
“Fuck off, Fridge.”
The announcer called Fridge next, and he shook his head. “Are you going to believeElijah?” With that cutting remark, he slipped to the ice, and I was left to mutter, stuck in my bad mood.
June and King were getting cozy. They weren’t even dating anymore, why were they that close?
“C’mon, Twinkletoes!”
Elijah’s yell broke my one-sided staring contest.
Shit.
They were trying to roll out Riley Townsend, but the freshman’s skates were barely on the ice. He refused to budge away from safety, his gloves still firmly clutching to safety. Elijah skated in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.
Shit, shit, shit.
“What’s up, Twinkletoes?” Elijah mocked. “Are you scared?”
“I’m not fucking scared,” Riley snapped, his hands shaking in time toKokomo.
“You have the whole arena watching! Spotlight’s onyou,baby!”
Our teammates were clumped together, and I had to push and shove them away, trying to get to Riley.
“Shut up!” Riley snarled.
“Yeah? Say that to my face!” Elijah skated forward in a flurry of ice. “Wait, you can’t, you’d have to stop shaking first!”
My fingers grazed the back of Riley’s jersey, but he leaped, crashing into Elijah. Fists flew, curses tangled together, and I watched in shock as Riley gripped Elijah by his hair and slammed his head against the ice.
I threw myself after them.
Fights were a regular part of hockey but not a fucking exhibition practice with your own teammates. We weren’t even playing a real game! I managed to grab Elijah, but Riley decked me in the jaw—on purpose, on accident, I had no idea—and I dropped him instantly.
Riley grabbed Elijah by the throat. “Fuck you, bitch!”
Other players flew over and were caught in the crosshairs. Separating the two of them didn’t matter because once Elijah was out of range, Riley tried to beat somebody else’s ass.
All hell broke loose.
The rest of the guys poured onto the ice. Half of us were grabbing each other to stop the fight, the other half reacting to getting popped in the back of the head, by poppingthemin the mouth. I didn’t know who the hell was hitting me, I just elbowed my way through my teammates, cursing loud enough to land me in the sin bin for the rest of my life.
It was dirty, it was gritty, it was a fucked-up bar fight.
I wrestled Elijah away, both of us down on the ice, and I shook him like a glow stick. “Knock it off!”
“He can’t skate!” Elijah laughed. “That kid can’t skate!”
“He has stage fright, asshole!”
His laugh left him wheezing. “What kind of team is this?!”
“Listen, you’re doing this in front of everybody—” My words stuttered to a stop. I glanced over a sea of hockey players beating the ever-loving shit out of each other to catch sight of the audience on their feet, phones out, recording us.
