Page 44 of Stick With Me
Mostly false.“Not sure her thinking about me while fucking you is a flex, bud,” I can’t help but shoot back.If he thinks I care about him dating, fucking, or whatever he’s doing with Rebecca, he’s dumber than I thought.
“Did Hannah see our post? Has she been crying on your shoulder over it? Bet you’re happy. You’ve been waiting years for this, haven’t you, Logan?”
So much for playing it cool. The thought of him hurting her intentionally makes my blood boil. He’s finally hit my weak spot—her.
“Don’t fucking talk about her, jackass. I don’t want to hear her name out of your mouth. Got it?” The words come out sharper than I intended, my frustration cutting through despite my attempts to stay calm.
The referee steps into position, whistle perched between his lips, puck in hand, ready for the drop.
Knolls’ shoulders shake with laughter. “Does my name leave her mouth when you’re fucking her?”
“You motherfucker.”
The sharp blow of the whistle rings in my ears, and the referee drops the puck onto the surface below. What should follow is the clashing of sticks and a battle for possession of the puck; instead, the puck is forgotten, at least by me. I drop my stick, shake off my gloves, and grab Knolls’ jersey with one hand while landing a right hook to his cheekbone with the other.
The ref blows his whistle, stopping play before it even starts and letting us fight.
Knolls retaliates, landing a few hits to my side and one square to my face. I feel the split in my brow, but the pain doesn’t register with the adrenaline surging through me. The metallic tang of blood hits my tongue as it drips over my lip and down my chin. But I’m not the only one bleeding. His lip is split, and blood stains my knuckles as I land another hit to his jaw. Punches continue to be thrown, but he’s on the losing side. In his desperation, he pulls me down to the ice, signaling the refs to step in to separate us.
Teammates from both sides surround us. Fox skates up beside me as the referee grips my jersey and drags me toward the penalty box. “What was that, man?” Fox asks.
I don’t have time to respond before the ref shoves me into the box and shuts the plexiglass door behind me. Knolls sits in the visiting team’s box to my right. The referee’s voice comes across the arena speakers, calling out the penalties. “Saints #19 receives a two-minute instigating minor penalty, a five-minute major for fighting, and a ten-minute misconduct. Spurs #63 receives a five-minute major for fighting.”
Great. I’m out for almost the entire first period. The Spurs are on a power play, and I’m stuck here while my team has to fight off a penalty. Not exactly a surprise. I knew I’d be thrown in the bin as soon as I lost my gloves and threw the first punch. What gets me is how I let Knolls get in my head, giving him exactly what he wanted. The guy really has a knack for pissing me off.
I drop my head, the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears as I work to regain my composure.
Not even a minute later, the buzzer sounds, pulling my attention to the ice where Dallas celebrates the goal they just scored. Even though the Saints are back to full strength, I’m still benched until my penalties expire.
Long minutes later, I finally leave the box, my usual drive to beat Dallas now burning tenfold. I make my way back to the bench, waiting for my line’s turn on the ice. As the puck is dumped into the attack zone from the blue line and the first line skates to the bench for a change, I prepare to hop over the boards and join the play.
With the power play goal, we’re down, but I’m hungry to even the score. Fox battles along the boards for possession of the puck. When he finally wins it, he sends it my way. The puck dances on the end of my stick, but with no open lane, I pass it to my winger and take position netfront, screening the goalie. Helm shoots, but their goalie slides to the right, blocking the shot. The puck ricochets off his pads and lands inches from my stick. I shove it toward the goal line. Luck is on my side because the goalie doesn’t have time to get back into position, and the lamplight flashes. It’s a rebound goal, not flashy, but a goal all the same.
I skate toward the boards with an arm raised in victory as my teammates rush to surround me, shouting a chorus of, “Let’s go! Atta boy! Keep pushing!”
The second period is a battle, with both teams fighting hard, but no goals are scored.
The third starts with the referee’s whistle piercing the air and the score tied at 1-1. When the puck drops, I lunge forward with a burst of speed, winning the face-off. Thank fuck it wasn’t against Knolls this time. I’d like to stay out of the penalty box for the rest of the game.
With two minutes left on the clock, Daws scores the final goal of the game. He skates past the bench with a shit-eating grin, bumping gloves with players as he goes. When he reaches me, he says, “That one was for you, Lo.” One of the many things I love about hockey is knowing I have twenty-two guys who always have my back.
When the buzzer sounds, the home crowd erupts into thunderous cheers that echo through the arena. The Saints take the win, and it’s the sweetest one yet. The anger on Knolls’ face as he leaves the ice with his team only makes my smile grow wider.
As we head off the ice, Fox skates up alongside me. “You’re not getting out of drinks, Lo. I don’t care if your face is fucked.”
“My face isn’t fucked.” I scowl at him, the cut near my eyebrow pulling tight where the butterfly bandage holds the skin together.
“It’s not gonna be pretty in about an hour,” Fox says.
Knolls got one good shot in.Worth it.“All right, fine, I’m in.”
I go through my post-game routine, not surprised when I get called for media. It’s to be expected after my fight with Knolls. The media loves a good brawl and the story that comes with it, but they aren’t getting one from me.
“Ryan, how do you keep the momentum of this win going?”
I’m glad they’ve started with a relevant hockey question. “We’re focused on taking it one game at a time. We did a lot of things right tonight, and we’re hoping to build on it in our next game.”
“What happened on the ice with Jace Knolls? You are both Rumford alumni. Is there bad blood?”
