Page 34 of Offside

Or none of those reasons could matter to him and it’s simply because I witnessed something he did years ago and he wants to make sure I never mention it.

Whatever the case, Russo is the only guy I’ve ever truly despised and tonight I get a dose of his shit.

Thankfully, in the first five minutes of the first period, my team sets the record straight with three back-to-back goals, two of which I was awarded assists. One was to Costa and another to Ax, easily shutting down Sergei’s attempt at takeaways.

The flip side to this scoring lead as we take the ice into the second period is that it’s sent Sergei into a tailspin. His dark eyes stare me down as we wait for the puck to drop. His glare tells me he wants revenge for making him look bad tonight.

Well, fuck him. He should play better, then.

I get into position, keeping my stick light in my gloves, and watch as the puck bounces from the ref’s hands and is immediately dished out from Costa over to Ax, who swiftly maneuvers it with the speed and agility he’s known for down the right side of the ice.

With Russo on his heels, I skate toward Ax, positioning myself on his left to both block the team and be open for a pass.

I see Costa is in front of me and to the left, and I know he’s going to be on the receiving end of the pass.

Ax chips the puck on his backhand to me, and Costa is ready and waiting to receive the pass from me.

I dangle it around Sergei, first to his left and then to the right, his stick jamming in front me, looking to gain possession. But I’m too fast for him and I let the puck fly toward Costa, who is now heading toward the net to take his shot.

What occurs next happens in a blur.

As soon as the puck leaves my stick, I skate around toward the right side of the boards, ready to be there for a rebound if Costa’s shot misses the net or the puck is deflected. Russo is on my tail. I hear him grunt and smell his desperation.

The next thing I know, he gets a piece of me from behind with a cross-check to the boards.

I don’t expect the hit because the puck is out of play.

Russo’s hard, dirty hit is lethal and absolutely illegal.

But that apparently doesn’t stop him from ramming me again. My head flies forward into the glass and snaps back like a bobblehead doll.

The next thing I know, I’m laid out face down on the ice. The world spins in a hazy pain, and my head swirls like an amusement park ride.

There’s buzzing in my ears. Or is that the crowd booing Russo?

I slowly try to rise, to make my way up to my knees, but my arms and legs give out from under me and I’m flat again, my body involuntarily collapsing back to the ice. My vision goes in and out, growing dimmer as I notice two pairs of skates at my side.

“You okay, Keeners?”

I blink. I can’t move my head or look up at Costa.

Then I feel a hand on my back. Our trainer, David, is at my side.

“Tell me your name.”

I want to laugh because it’s a stupid question. Who the fuck wouldn’t know their name? But the question gives me pause.

My name? That’s easy…it’s…

Fuuuuck.

“Can you stand?” A hand wraps around my elbow and he brings me to my feet.

“I’m fine.” I try to push him away, but the wobble in my stance clearly tells a different story. I’m good and truly fucked.

David scowls. “That’s what I thought. We’re getting you off the ice, Ballas.”

I grumble but I know he’s only doing his job. It’s mandatory that I get evaluated after a hit like that.

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