Page 51 of Grudge Puck
After a few more minutes of waiting, the concussion-spotterfinallymade it into the room to check me out.
“Took you long enough,” I growled at him. “What happened? Hit your head and get lost on the way down here?”
He peered at me over his spectacles; he wasn't amused. “Remember: I'm the guy who decides if you get to return to the ice or not.”
My shoulders dropped. “Fine.”
***
I got cleared to return to the game during the second intermission. When the third period started, I took the ice with the rest of the team. When they saw me again, the crowd went wild with their boos.
Hunter elbowed me. “Guess they're glad to see you back, huh?”
“You know it.”
I skated by Camille's seat and gave her a wink. She sat with folded arms. Her eyes glowed, but her lips were cinched tight—like she was fighting back a smile with every ounce of willpower she had in her bones.
And that was when I realized something.
You know. I really do like that girl.
Unfortunately, Coach took me off Hunter's line and started the period with my ass stapled to the bench. Coach apparently didn't think it was 'safe' for me to return to the game yet.
“Why the hell not?” I roared. “They cleared me. They said I'm fine.”
“It's not about that. The game's gotten too chippy with you out there, Beau. I've gotta worry about the other guys on this team. If I throw you back out there, it'll be like throwing gas on a fire.”
“You don't understand, Coach. I need to get back out there.”
“Why, so you can exact revenge?”
“No. Coach, I wanna get even on the scoreboard.”
“That's rich,” Coach said with a doubting laugh. Some of the boys around me laughed, too.
No one believed me.
Coach shook his head. “Just hang tight and take it easy, Beau.”
Wow.
Coach was really going to bench me. After coming back from that huge hit, he wasn't going to put me back out there. And after I bragged to Camille that I'd score two goals, too. Coach might as well cut my balls off and throw those out on the ice while he was at it.
I stewed on the bench, watching my team slog through the game like uninspired, emotionless robots.
After every mistake, every flat play, I shot Coach a nasty look that said,see? Put me out there and that won't happen.
But he turned away every time, too damned proud to look me in the eye.
Until the Scouts scored again—and we went down 2-0 with ten minutes left to play. As soon as that puck went into our net, I stared at Coach.
“Alright, Beau. You've got one shift to make me change my mind.”
He tapped my shoulder and sent me out with Hunter's line for the next play.
Yes.
I leaped over the boards with piss and vinegar flowing through my veins. As soon as the ref dropped the puck, I let pure instinct and rage guide me on a tear.
