Page 145 of Pucking Strong

She just waves over her shoulder, shuffling down the hall in her clicking heels.

In moments, Morrow comes jogging around the corner, determined to intercept her. After a quick word with her, he locks eyes with me, pointing with the finger of destiny. “Donotlet him fucking drive!”

Oh, this is so fucking fucked!

The whistle blows, and the crowd roars in outrage. My heart races, my breath heavy in my chest. I saw the whole thing like it was happening in slow motion. Number thirty-two on the Golden Knights has been goading Lindberg all game. He’s a young hot head, fresh off the draft, and Lindberg just scored on him. Again. In a fit of petulant rage, the kid shoved Lindberg after the play, sending him face-first into the boards. His helmet hit with a crack, and Lindberg went down to the ice.

Now the kid is standing over him, shouting something as the ref skates in. But I’m closer. Surging forward, I drop my glove and punch the kid right in the fucking face. My hand instantly burns with the pain of the contact, the muscles clenching tight. The kid drops to the ice, scrambling to get back up as blood flows down his chin. “Bro, what the fuck!”

“Play fair or get the fuck off my ice!”

“Bro, man, fuck you!” The kid swings at me, and I duck.

I lose my footing as a second Golden Knight comes crashing in to defend his teammate. I trip over Lindberg’s legs as I’m pressed into the boards. With a growl, I elbow whoever is behind me.

The whistles are going crazy now as the refs swoop in. Jake grabs me by the arms, pulling me back. A Knights defenseman does the same to thirty-two.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, man,” he shouts at me. “Try me! Fucking try me, man!”

“Go back to the beer leagues, you piece of shit!” That’s all I can get out in English before I switch to Swedish, profanity pouring from me like a fountain.

“Hey,” Jake growls in my ear, skating me backwards. “It’s done.”

“Did you see what he did?”

“I saw. The punk was asking for it. But stop while you’ve got the upper hand. He’s the one who looks like an ass, not you.”

The whistles are still blowing as the linemen try to pull Novikov off the defenseman who hit me into the boards. He has him pinned down on the ice, grappling with him.

“Lindberg!” I turn in Jake’s arms, looking for my injured teammate.

“He’s fine,” Jake assures me. “Just got the wind knocked out of him.”

I glance up, catching the replay footage on the jumbotron. The crowd watches too, screaming and pounding the plexiglass. Their thirst for bloodlust knows no bounds. Not for the first time, I feel like a gladiator in the Colosseum. This is a dangerous sport and accidents happen. Would they even care if we died? Is that how I might meet my end? To their thunderous applause?

I didn’t fight that kid because I wanted to. I fought because behavior like that can’t be tolerated. He could have seriously injured Lindberg, taken him out of the game. If a broken nose encourages him to play fair, I’ll break his nose every day of the week.

There’s not enough time on the game clock for me to wait out my penalty, so the ref sends me back to the bench with Novy. Coach Johnson doesn’t even spare a harsh word for us. The Rays are up, and he knows exactly why we did what we did. Down the wall, that punk-ass kid marches into the tunnel to the jeers of the Rays home crowd, holding a bloody towel to his face.

The game still ends with a Rays win. My job done for another night, I make my way down the tunnel, back to the dressing room. As I’m untying my skate laces, Lindberg sits next to me. “Hej.”

“Hej, hej,” I say. “You okay?”

He nods, placing a hand on my bare shoulder. “Thanks.”

I just shrug. “You’d do the same for me.”

“That was a solid punch,” says DeGraw from my other side. He doesn’t speak Swedish, but he intuits what we’re talking about. “The EMT said you broke his nose.”

“Good,” Lindberg mutters. With a heavy sigh, he shakes his head. “He’s my replacement.”

“What?” says DeGraw.

“When the Rays traded for me, the Knights took that kid and gave himmycenter position. He’s the new me.”

“Which is why he thought he had something to prove tonight,” says DeGraw. “Instead, he proved the opposite.”

Lindberg glances up. “What opposite?”

---