Page 155 of Until We Burn
“Come on, buddy.”
The linesmen usher me off the ice. I shrug their hands away and point at the blood running down my chin.
“Look at my face!”
“Let’s go?—”
“Look at my fucking face!”I shout. “I didn’t have possession of the puck, I got body checked back there, and you did nothing!”
They push me into the penalty box and shut the door. My anger snaps. I swing my stick against the wall.
We’re losing to the Vipers. We’ve given everything we got on the ice, but there’s not a single strategy out there that’s cunning enough to handle biased referees.
When my time is up, I skate onto the ice again. I watch as Jonas takes the puck and skates towards the net. Marinelli, Viper #20, swoops towards him in the opposite direction.
He knocks Jonas’ knee.
“Jonas!” I scream out.
He drops to the ice.
My gut churns as the whistle blows.
The game stops. Every player pauses. Except one.
“Luke, no!”
Luke flings off his gloves and punches Marinelli. Blood rips from the Viper’s lips. But Luke doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch with angry tears streaming down his face.
“Luke, that’s enough!” Rowan shouts.“He’s done!”
The referee cleaves them apart. Vipers fans boo Luke from the stands. He doesn’t even notice because his eyes are glassy with tears as they glare at Viper #20 lying limp at his skates.
Rowan grabs Luke’s jersey and shakes him. “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t give out punches like that!”
“It was him!” Luke cries out. So much anger and pain rips through his voice that Rowan eases up a little.
He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
“He was one of the guys who beat up Wallace!” Luke yells. “Mikhalkov told me?—”
“Breathe.”I cup Luke’s trembling face. Worry kills all my rage when I notice he’s practically vibrating against my touch. “Jesus fuck. You’re shaking, man.”
Luke sags into my chest with a whimper. “It’s my fault that Wallace got hurt.”
“No, it’s not,” I fight back.
“Yes, it is!” Luke shoves my hands away. “I pissed off Marinelli at the party and that’s why he went after Wallace!”
“He has no idea you and Wallace are friends!” I stress. “Marinelli would’ve beat him up anyway because that’s what the Vipers wanted to do. It was never your fault, Luke.”
The referee skates towards the front. He extends his arms out and bumps his fists together twice. “Number fourteen, Luke King, game disqualification for fighting.”
“Putain.”
Unlike the NHL, you can’t fight in the NCAA. It’s too much of a risk to let student athletes deliberately throttle each other when they’re fighting to cinch a degree.
Rowan curses under his breath. His jaw tenses, as his gloved hands flex in and out at his sides.
