Page 65 of Delayed Offsides

With a few seconds left in the second period, I snag a beautiful upper left corner goal. Gloating, as usual, I raise my hand in the air and skate past our bench, knocking gloves with my boys.

Directly after the play, Remy takes a nasty hit into the boards and then laughs when the Penguin comes back at him, slashing his stick. We’ll be lucky if this doesn’t end in a power play.

“Nice slash, ya fuckin’ bitch.” Remy snorts, circling him, that gnarly smirk he has when he’s pissed surfacing. “If you’re gonna high stick me, take me out. Don’t be a bitch.”

I take my stick and place it between the defenseman’s legs as he skates back to his bench for the shift change. He notices and glares at me. “Is that fuckin’ necessary?”

“Absolutely,” I draw out, circling him. “I got more where that came from, too, cupcake.” I stroke my stick. “Bend over just a little more, and I’ll show you.”

“Orting!” O’Brien snaps, shaking his head. “Knock it off and play fuckin’ hockey.”

I point to the goal, you know, the one I just scored. “What’s that?”

You’re not going to believe this, but he rolls his eyes at me.

You can play a physical game in hockey without the penalties, but it’s not easy. You have to be sneaky about it. I haven’t… okay, I don’t think I’ve ever mastered sneaky when it comes to penalties. I can be sneaky with goals, not so much on the penalty side because I’m called on taunting after my incident between the defenseman’s legs, a penalty I see quite often.

I don’t think the Penguins’ defenseman, Rozen, who I’d so discreetly stuck my stick up his ass, is looking to give me some lessons on professionalism. “You wanna do this?” I ask. I’m not going to fight him. Remember, I don’t like the sight of blood. At all. But I also shouldn’t have provoked him. He has fifty pounds on me. “You’re a fuckin pussy, aren’t ya?”

“Why don’t you ask your girl?” Rozen taunts, with a nod to the stands. He’s referring to Callie. “I ate her pussy last season. She can tell ya a thing or two.”

More than likely, this is his way of getting under my skin. Guaranteed he hasn’t done a goddamn thing with Callie, but it’s all part of his plan to get me to drop my gloves. Works every time when you know what and when to say it.

Guess what I do?

Drop my gloves. I’m the fuckin’ pussy now because by doing this, Rozen lets me make the first move, and I create a power play for the Penguins. Exactly what we don’t need. “You gutless piece of shit!” I say, shoving him, heading back to the penalty box. We didn’t even fight, but I did what I wasn’t supposed to do.

Coach isn’t happy with me, and sure enough, they tie the game up.

When I’m back on the bench, I can see the guys’ morale slipping. Next to Ryan, I start singing “I Kissed a Girl.”

“Stop singing. You sound horrible.” Ryan tries to ignore me. And then he realizes how much time I’ve spent in the sin bin tonight. “What’s with you and Rozen?”

I grin. “What a dickeater that guy is, huh?”

Ryan shakes his head, laughing. Got some humor out of him, though. Every game in hockey is different from the last. Not only are you playing different guys, but your team’s morale is different. Games like this when they’re close, and you’re fighting for all your worth just to get that damn puck in the net, you have to keep the guys positive. They get down, and that’s when we start to make mistakes. I feel like it’s my job to get them up, because when we’re up, we’re fucking golden. We all have each other’s backs, not a chance in hell of anyone touching us when we’re all on our game, fighting for the win in our house. We’re struggling tonight, though, and it’s up to me to turn the heat up in this icebox.

We head into overtime and don’t make any ground other than arguing with each other. When I square up for the drop, I wink at the Penguins center. “Hey, baby, what’s the safe word?”

He glares at me, but I snag the puck and send a saucer toward Travis.

“Pass it!” Remy shouts, hitting his stick against the ice, wide-open and ready to just tap the puck if only I’d be passing to him through two defenders.

“Hold your tits, Carson. I’ll pass the puck when I’m good and ready.” I spin around the left winger on my right and then come around the back of the goal.

“I’m open!” he shouts again.

“I bet you are,” I tease, smiling at him when I drop the puck back to Ryan, who comes up behind me. Goal! “Sweet fuck, look at that pass, eh.”

“Fuck you,” Remy grumbles, shoving me backward when the horn sounds, signifying the end of the period.

“No, fuck you.” I’m on a roll pissing everyone off, but it makes me laugh because now Remy is hungrier for the win than ever. Was that by design? Yeah, it was.

Once the period is over, it’s time for the shoot-out. Each team gets a shot at the goal. If no one scores, you move down your list of snipers until someone does.

“Listen up, boys,” O’Brien shouts over the screaming fans announcing the shootout order. “Shaw, Carson, Orting!”

Ryan and Remy’s attempts at the shoot-out goals go unanswered, and it leaves me. Circling the blue line, I look up at Callie, standing, cheering me on like she has been the entire game with her hands clutched tightly together. Like I said, nothing matters more to the players—and the fans—than the win. It matters to Callie if we win or lose. This isn’t just a game to her. It’s a way of life.

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