Page 61 of The Poster Boy
“At least I’m not soft in the head. You’ve taken one too many hits if you think that was a good insult.” I won the battle for the puck and passed it back to Andrew, who passed it forward, dodging an attempted interception by the other team.
Our guys battled down in their end for a little bit before the other team put the pressure on and forced play back down into our end. We went back and forth like that, both teams getting increasingly frustrated by the lack of scoring chances.
Things got ugly in the second period when Marek made a particularly pretty save, shutting them down again. No matter what had gone on between us, Marek was on fire tonight. We might as well have fastened a sheet of plywood over the front of the net as far as the other team was concerned.
Boone was on the ice, and they managed to take the action down to the other end, but then Griffin missed a pass, and Mats intercepted. The crowd roared to life as he got a breakaway. I skated my ass off trying to catch him, but Mats was a fast little fucker.
He tried to get the puck past Marek, but even with a fake-out, Marek was faster. When it became clear to Mats that Marek wasn’t fooled, he skated faster, heading straight for Marek as he geared up to shoot the puck.
When bad shit happens, people say that everything slows down, but for me it was the opposite. I saw the way Mats violently crashed into Marek. Mats slammed him backward into the net, knocking it off its post and beforethe whistle could even blow, I was there, my suddenly ungloved hand grabbing Mats by the front of the jersey. I got two shots in before he realized what was going on and started to fight back.
I heard nothing but the roar of blood in my ears. There was no crowd. No game. Just me and a jackass who needed to eat his teeth. Mats might be fast on his feet, but he definitely wasn’t someone who threw a lot of punches in the game. By the time the refs arrived, Mats had a split lip and a bloody nose. My hand would hurt later when the adrenaline wore off, but for now I was too worked up to feel anything.
“Don’t touch my fucking goalie,” I hissed at Mats as the refs pulled us apart.
“Come on, Brookbank. Time to cool it,” one of the refs said to me.
“He had it coming. Asshole crashed the net. Fucking coward. Did you see that shit he pulled?” I spun and tried to go after Mats again, but then Marek was there, blocking my path.
He stared at me, his blue eyes steady and calm. “Let it go, Jay.”
“He crashed the net.” My pulse had yet to recover, and I was struck with the stupid urge to rip my helmet off and kiss Marek.
“Let it go, Jay. We have a game to win.”
“That little shit is going to pay for that,” I told Marek. “No one fucks with you.”
There was so much more I wanted to say, but Marek motioned to the ref who was still tugging on my arm.
“Be a good boy for the nice referee, Jay.”
Marek skated away from me, and this time I let the ref steer me toward the penalty box. At least in hockey, I knewhow long I’d be in the sin bin for. I had no idea how long Marek was going to stay mad at me.
I had to win him back. I flexed my hand, staring at my bloody knuckles. My hand was already starting to ache a little, but it was worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucked with my goalie.
Chapter 29
Marek
Mats skated off the ice touching the fingers of his ungloved hand to his bloody lip. With Jay drawing a stupid five-minute major for fighting, I officially had my work cut out for me.
Mats crashing the net had been a dick move born of desperation. Their team had been having a good run until we showed up in town and threatened to end that for them. Sometimes hotheaded hockey players did dumb shit like try to bust me up. It had happened before; it would happen again.
I’d never seen Jay move that fast or be that angry before, though. The lovesick idiot in me wanted to crow about it, and I might have if I thought it meant anything. Jay was a defenseman. He had more penalty minutes than the entire first line combined. Not that I knew all his stats or anything.
The game was a shit show after that fight. The other team was doing their best to get us to draw more penalties, but our guys weren’t dumb. Coach must have put a leash on Jay because he didn’t take the bait no matter how many chirps and cheap shots the other team took at him.
Near the end of the third, Boone managed to tip a goal in off a rebound. It was like someone popped a balloon, and the excitement bled out of the crowd in a loaded sigh. There was almost no time on the clock. If they wanted to tie it up and force it to overtime, they’d have to pull the goalie.
I watched them meet at center ice, Griffin taking the face-off. He was deadly fast on the face-offs. Today he wasn’t fast enough, and the action quickly came to me. I knew when the other team pulled the goalie because the crowd roared to life. An extra attacker was like an extra life in Super Mario. Sometimes it saved you. Sometimes it didn’t make a lick of difference.
Our guys did their best to get it down the other end, but the other team was determined to take as many shots on me as possible in the last minute of the game. The clock crawled toward victory. Boone intercepted the puck and passed it back to Griffin. The other team stole it from him and with time winding down, they took a shot at net.
Vasily blocked the shot with his body and passed it back to me. I glanced up at the clock, then launched the puck down the ice. Their team skated their asses off trying to get to the puck before it was too late. But the goal light lit up, and a fraction of a second later the final whistle went.
The guys swarmed me at the net, first the ones who were on the ice. One by one, they skated up and knocked their helmets against mine. Every one of them grinning like an idiot.
And suddenly Jay was there. Our gazes held for a second, an eternity. Long enough for me to see the pain in his eyes.
