Page 47 of Grudge Puck
The crowd at Madison Square Garden beat me to the punch. Not a single breath had left my lungs before the city of New York let Beau know, loud and clear, that he washatedhere.
Hey, maybe I could get into hockey after all! Beau haters unite!
I broke into a gleeful smile and jabbed Piper for answers. “What's this about? Why do they hate him so much? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“You didn't hear?” she asked, giggling.
“About what?”
“Beau had some quotes in the pre-game report. The guy's a riot. Here, look.”
She pulled up her phone and showed me theTimes' sports section. The headline read:NYC Residents Live 'Like Sewer Rats,' and Other Controversial Takes from Beau Bradford.
Piper added, “He also slammed this Scouts player named Dave Leroux. Made fun of his contract and stuff. And Leroux obviously didn't like it, because he fired back calling Beau 'scum on the ice.' Sounds like a lot of bad blood between them heading into the game.”
I slapped my forehead. “Shocking, isn't it? That is so—him. It's like he has this deep-seated drive tomakepeople hate him.”
Beau, out on the ice, didn't seem to even register all the negative attention. He looked like he was in his own world instead. He stared straight ahead, at nothing, his features cold and hard.
“Do you think there might be a method to his madness?” Piper asked. “Like maybe there's a reason he says things to piss off the crowd.”
I gave a snort. “Doubt it. Just the same prick he ever was. A sociopath who feeds off of negativity and conflict.”
“But you said he wasn't always that way. You said he used to be quiet and shy.”
“Yeah. Before all those violent male hormoneskicked in at puberty.”
The ref dropped the puck, and the two teams started battling with each other. Off Beau went, galloping forward like a race horse into the opponent's end. Competing for the puck, Beau threw his shoulder into a rival at top speed. The Scouts player hit the ice with a thud, and the crowd groaned sympathetically.
Meanwhile, Beau's teammate Hunter had the puck on his stick. He juked a defender, then stormed into the open ice he'd just created, and ripped a shot that zipped past the goalie butclang'ed off the goal-post and out of play. The New York crowd sighed with relief as the play came to an end.
And as soon as the ref's whistle blew? There went Beau again—ready to mix it up with the other team. He shoved the palm of his glove in somebody's face, and that guy angrily shoved Beau back, and the two tussled and almost came to blows before the referees got in between them and broke the scuffle up.
“See what I mean?” I said to Piper. “He can't help himself.”
One of the nearby Scouts fans said aloud, so everyone in our section could hear him: “That Beau Bradford is one huge pain in the goddamn ass.”
I stood from my seat, gave that fan a thumbs-up and yelled, “You said it!”
A ripple of laughter went up in our section.
Beau's shift was over, and he glided back to the bench. A new set of players came off the bench. I kept my eyes trained on Beau, to see if he would look for me in the crowd while he waited. But he didn't. He just watched the action out on the ice and never even took a glance to see if I was here.
He'll see me eventually. He has to.
***
The first period ended with the New York Scouts leading Beau's Colorado Blizzard, 1-0.
Beau still hadn't been close enough to our section to see me yet. But for the second period, the two teams switch sides—which meant Beau would be attacking my end of the ice for a change.
As the two teams returned from their dressing rooms to start the second period, there was a deafening jeer when Beau stepped onto the ice.
He circled the ice to warm-up, and fans banged the glass around him, hollering and yelling obscenities at him.
Jeez. He lives like this? Kind of crazy.
Piper nudged my shoulder. “I guess it makes you pretty happy to see how much he's hated here then, huh?”
