Page 1 of Two Guys One Puck
ONE
SEABORN
Boston: Last game of the regular season.
“Nice to see you, pretty boy,” Ktytor’s Ukrainian accent reaches my ears as the first period starts, and I find him with a huge smile on his face. Smug fucking bastard. “Have you missed me much?”
“Fuck you, Ktytor.”
“You learned how to say my name! I knew you liked me.” His entire personality grates like nails on a chalkboard.
“I don’t know how you’re even making that sound,” his teammate says. “I just call him K-pop.”
I laugh. “It’s bad if your own teammates don’t even try.”
He gives us both a flat look. “Kai-tea-tor. I know you’ve taken a lot of pucks to the head, but is not really that hard.”
“That’s not English.”
“That’s the point.” Ktytor carries himself with a superior indifference, one that bleeds into every aspect of his play. He knows he’s one of the best players to ever play in college. He could have been drafted to the NHL right out of juniors, but he went to college to make my life hell.“Now where were we?” He shoves me out of the way, trying to get a better angle on the goal.He’s the best player in the league right now, and I want nothing more than to shut him down.
“You’re not getting to me tonight.” I’m the enforcer, and he’s my only focus tonight, and if this game is anything like our past ones, I’m going to spend a lot of the time in the box.“Go fuck yourself.”
“Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.”
“You wish.”
“If you let me by you, I’ll get on my knees and thank you properly.”
His teammates funnel the puck into the center, and he slams against me, looking for an opening.
“Not on your life.” I block when he tries to spin around me, not letting him keep the puck.
He loses control of it, and Wolfe, my goalie, snatches it.
Ktytor seethes, and I grin, giving him a pinky wave before skating off towards the other side of the rink. He growls on my heels, getting back while trying to steal the puck. I shoulder into him, keeping him away from it.
Hit after hit, every position is a war, and we’ve escalated every game we’ve played this season. I’ll come out of this game more bruised than any other in my career. All because this asshole loves to push my fucking buttons.
Ktytor skates circles around most players, which is why Coach told me to not give him an inch for the rest of the game, and with every minute that ticks by, he grows more frustrated. It shows up in all aspects of his play. He’s not used to it and resorts to playing physically, deteriorating his skills.
I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do, but getting to him feeds something inside me.
“Been working on your cardio, angel baby?”Ktytor snarls. He’s trying to put on a teasing face, but frustration bleeds through.
“Mad I can keep up with you?”
“No, just impressed you improved so quickly. You were quite slow the first time we met.” He shrugs, but it’s eating at him.
“It’s a shame you haven’t improved.” I flip around to skate backwards.
His upper lip pulls in a snarl, but no matter what he tries, he can’t get around me.
His coach finally pulls him off, and I go to the bench to take a break. But it doesn’t last long. Every time the Monsters put him back on the ice, my coach puts me in.
I’m fucking beat by the time we get to the first period break. I lay on the floor in the locker room, needing to conserve all my energy for the second period.
“Good job keeping up with Ktytor, Seaborn,” Coach Hawke says, toeing me with his dress shoe.
