Page 70 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

His eyes glint with menace as he pushes himself to a stand. "You should really be thanking me."

"Why would I thank you?"

"Because I broke her in for you."

Philip moves before I can punch him.

And it’s a good thing, because as I watch him return to his side of the rink, it’s with the most violent of intentions.

I'm going to destroy him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ASH

The game starts with a trick play. The quarterback tosses the ball to Sonny, and everyone descends on him. But Sonny tosses it back to Rusty, who runs in small but confident steps on the ice and makes a fast break. He's about to cross into the end zone when Philip throws his body forward on the ice. He zooms into Rusty's legs, causing Rusty to tip forward as Philip grabs and trips him. They slide into the end zone together before Rusty falls.

"Touchdown!" the announcer yells.

But Philip doesn't care. They both get up to their knees, and Philip grabs Rusty and puts him in a headlock.

"He can't do that!" I jump up screaming.

"Course he can," a woman says from in front of me. "This is Double H, sweetheart. The fights are the best part. Fight! Fight! Fight!" she starts yelling.

And to my absolute shock, they do.

Philip is trying to pull Rusty's jersey over his head, but Rusty goes limp and twists out of his grip. A moment later, he pops back up to his knees and smashes his fist into Philip's helmet, who falls backward on the ice.

The referee slides over and breaks up the fight.

I'm totally gobsmacked, but the rest of the arena is laughing and cheering, including all of my friends.

All of them.

The announcers—Dewey and Darryl—are laughing over the loudspeaker.

"In true Double H tradition, we're starting the game with a good ol' fashioned brawl!" Dewey says. "Rusty Fielding with the Mullet Ridge Dirtbags has rung the starting bell of Philip Dumfries, playing for the Battle Creek Badgers."

"You know," Daryl says, "I think this is the first time we've seen fan-players start the opening brawl." He chuckles. "I'm guessing these two have a score to settle."

Dewey gives a belly laugh. "Mark my words, it's about a girl."

"I don't know," Daryl says. "Dumfries coulda said he prefers Hellman's mayo to Duke's."

"Ooh hoo hoo! Them's fightin' words, all right!"

The ref blows his whistle and sends them both into the penalty box—because why not include a penalty box in an ice football game?— and Rusty and Philip are both sent into it for ninety seconds.

"If I'd have known the only consequence for punching Philip in the face was a minute and a half in a penalty box, I'd have punched that alpha-hole a long time ago," Jane says.

My laugh is weak, because as much as thoughts of Philip have consumed too many hours of my life, I'm hardly thinking of him at all. "Rusty punched someone."

"That's ice football for you," Duke says, leaning forward so he can talk to me past Millie. "They only play during the hockey and football off seasons. It's a way for the rinks in the area to keep making money and for the locals to get out of the heat. But it's all about the audience experience. That's why they let fans play. Some people want to relive their glory days, others want to perform in front of a crowd. It lets them act out their childhood fantasies of beating someone up without doing real damage."

"Says the guy who plays a violent sport for a living," Lou says.

"You talk a big game for someone who knows my stats better than a bookie," Duke says. Lou shrugs. She loves football. "They're all in hockey pads. They'll get banged up more falling on the ice than they will fighting."

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