Page 86 of Power Shift

Silent and with a fake smile.

28

RONAN

I shrugoff another hit and straighten out, focusing on the player trying to escape me. His glare is vicious behind his visor, but it has nothing on mine. I’m vibrating, adrenaline flooding my veins as I stalk him, forcing his teammate to abandon him and pass the puck off to someone else in a game of keep-away.

Jasper comes sweeping up from behind me and steals the puck before it meets the tape of the waiting player’s stick. His pace is unbeatable. Here and gone in a flash, he carries the puck out of our zone and into Nashville’s.

Spinning in a half circle, I slip past the forward I just blocked from getting a shot off and chase after Jasper. Dash claps his stick against his crossbar behind me while Landon tears his way up the ice across from Jasper, waiting.

He’s not as fast as Jasper, but he’s close. Even with a sore knee.

The Nashville defensemen pop up beside me, flanking both of my sides as they try and catch up to my packmates. I grin on instinct, loving the thrill that follows the chase. Skating fullspeed down the ice is the closest to flying I’ve experienced outside of an airplane.

Jasper and Landon stop in front of the Nashville net as Jasper sets up for a shot. He flicks the puck off his stick, but it bounces off the upper corner of the goalie’s shoulder. It slides away from the net enough for Landon to scoop it back up and evade the second Nashville player who pushes past me, trying to take it.

The first player doesn’t make it past me before I shoulder him into the boards. Stick out and ready, I catch the puck Landon shoots to me and send it to Jasper before the player I’m watching has a chance to steal it.

Landon is battling against a defenseman a few inches taller than him, jabbing his elbows out to try and break free. I can’t get to him without opening Jasper up to the guy on my ass.

The Nashville goalie tracks the puck with an ease that reminds me of the way Dash plays, his gait easy yet controlled. Jasper surveys the zone before eyeing Eklund, my defensive linemate.

The Swedish powerhouse skates through the slim gap that’s been left open and taps for the pass. Jasper flicks it off to him and, in a blink, has it right back on his stick.

Landon manages to shove off the player who was guarding him and frees himself up enough to receive an expert pass from Jasper. Everything moves in slow motion then.

His aim is perfect the way it always is as he snaps a shot off and sends the puck sailing through the only opening the goalie hasn’t managed to close. It sinks into the top left corner of the netting before the buzzer goes off, loud and proud.

Red light flares as he does a lap around the back of the net and glides to the bench without celebrating. His stick drags behind him on the ice while he stares out at the stands where I know Briar’s sitting wearing the jersey we got her. She’s beenthere from the moment we hit the ice for warm-ups, but fuck, there’s something off with her.

I know it has to do with Landon, and honestly, I’m struggling to keep from giving him a very public beat down right now. I’ve had enough of his attitude, and seeing Briar hardly managing to clap to celebrate Landon’s goal is my last straw.

From the quick push of Landon’s skates as he hops over the boards and onto the bench, I’m positive it’s his as well.

Jasper joins me as we follow our pack leader and leave the ice. Coach slaps me on the back while speaking to one of our rookies sitting on the end of the bench.

I drop my body on the opening beside Landon and lean my stick against the boards. “You’re not in it again.”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“You deserve one,” I bite out.

The puck drops for a faceoff, and our second line sets out to try and add another goal to our three-to-nothing score. Landon ignores me, fixing his attention on the ice.

I jostle his leg with my knee. “What did you say to Briar?”

He grabs the squeeze bottle of water offered to him by a member of the coaching staff and squirts it into his mouth. It’s obviously a stalling tactic, but as the whistle blows and an offside is called, the window we can use to talk grows larger.

“Did you know about her being in my bathroom?”

“Yeah. You’re lucky she didn’t drown you with how shitty you’ve been to her.”

“She had no right to bust into my space,” he snaps.

“Is that what you said to her? You gave her shit for looking after you like a sorry fuck?” I ask, exasperated.

Landon tosses his water bottle beneath the bench and spreads his legs as wide as possible. His exhale is angry.

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