Page 177 of Game Misconduct
And in the center of it all—Leonard, grinning.
He wanted this. Wanted me out.
The trainers get to me fast. I wave them off, jaw locked. “I’m staying in.”
“Lasker—”
“I said I’m fine.”
Because if I leave, he wins.
I plant my skates back in the crease. Bend. Stretch. Pain flashes but holds. Fine enough.
I glance up toward the owner’s suite, just once. She’s nothing but a shadow behind glass from this far down, but I look anyway.
Part of me hopes she’s watching. The other part hopes she’s not, because this isn’t clean hockey anymore.
Second period starts. Slow crawl of bone and blood. Every movement in net sends a warning shot through my shoulder, nerves singing sharp enough to cut. But I don’t leave.
I won’t.
Leonard skates past again mid-play, but this time he gets clipped. Not by me.
By Jace.
Hard. Legal. Surgical. The kind of hit that’s less about the puck and more about sending a message.
You don’t touch one of ours.
The crowd eats it up.
And it doesn’t stop there.
Eli starts skating tighter circles around Leonard, body checking just a little too close.
Riley throws more heat behind every slap shot like he’s trying to punch holes through their goalie.
Even quiet Cal gets in Leonard’s face after the whistle.
We’re not playing pretty anymore.
We’re playing Vipers hockey.
My kind of game.
They’re doing it for me.
I see it in their eyes when they look at the crease. I hear it in the barked line changes. I feel it in the way every rebound is cleared with violent precision.
This is what a real team looks like.
It takes until the final minutes of the second period, but the payoff comes. Beau slams the puck in from the top of the crease after a cross from Logan.
The crowd loses its mind.
We go ahead. 3–2.
My pulse hammers harder than the scoreboard buzzer. Leonard scowls, jaw tight, and for the first time all night…he looks nervous.
