Page 94 of Forbidden Puck
We headed west. The driver turned on the West Side Highway, and then we headed south.
Chelsea Piers came into view on our right, and the driver turned into the parking lot.
“Here we are,” Lance said.
“Chelsea Piers …” I mumbled, remembering my conversation with Ryan during our first dinner date at MacAllister's. “Is this what I think it is?”
Lance wouldn't say. “They're about to drop the puck. We better hurry!”
We rushed into the building, made our way to the rink, and stood in the front row right behind the glass. Two teams were warming up—a beer league game. After watching a professional hockey game, watching this rag-tag group of guys lumber around the ice reminded me of drunken snails on ice.
“This won't be pretty,” Shea said.
“These guys are rough,” Ilya remarked.
“Scrubs,” Lance laughed.
Of course, one among them didn't look nearly so bad. Ryan circled around the ice humbly. I could tell he was trying not to showcase his skill and was trying to blend in instead—but even from the way he glided, you could see he knew what he was doing. He was too big, too smooth, too elegant, to be some random beer league player.
At the other end of the rink, skating for the opponent, was my ex-boyfriend: Matthew, the asshole lawyer.
I turned to Lance. “Ryan's notseriouslygoing to do what I think he's about to do, is he?”
He smirked knowingly. “Radar doesn't let anybody bother mewithout making them pay for it. You think he's going to let this sleaze get away with insultingyou? Not a chance.”
The ref dropped the puck, and the game began.
It was only a matter of time—Matthew, the puck-hog 'star' of his team, took the puck from his own defensive end and started skating at top speed in a straight line. Ryan, playing defense and skating backwards, matched Matthew's top speed with a single stride. He pinched off Matthew's lane and began to steer the lawyer towards the boards. We all knew what was coming—it was like watching a car accident unfold in slow motion.
“Here we go, boys!” Shea shouted.
Ilya turned his eyes away. “This is too brutal, I can't even watch!”
Right in front of us, Ryan lowered his shoulder and powered his mass right through Matthew, sweeping him off his skates as if he weighed nothing and pasting the dirt-bag face-first into the glass.
BOOOOOM.The thud of Matthew's body smashing into the glass echoed around the empty rink. Only inches away from my ex's smashed face, I waved at him, though I doubted that he could see anything but stars at the moment.
Matthew tumbled to the ice.
“Gotta keep your head up, kid.” Ryan yelled as he skated off.
Slowly, Matthew staggered to his skates. “That was a cheap shot!” he screamed. He skated towards Ryan, throwing his gloves to the ice in the process. “You're fuckingdead!”
Ilya winced. “He'sseriouslychallenging Radar to a fight?”
Shea agreed. “He definitelyshouldn't have done that.”
Lance laughed. “Yuuup. This is about to get ugly.”
Ryan threw off his gloves, and when Matthew neared, he easily blocked Matthew's first strike like someone swatting away an annoying fly. Ryan then grabbed the collar of Matthew's jersey and fed him one solid right after another: one, two, three, and then Matthew's legs turned into jelly and he spilled to the ice.
The referee skated over and told Ryan he was ejected from the game.
“There's no fighting in this beer league,” Shea said. “They're both banned now.”
Ilya looked at his watch. “Radar's beer league career lasted what, fifteen seconds? Too bad. We'll have to keep him on the Brawlers.”
We watched as Matthew needed help climbing to his legs. The refs escorted him off the ice, too. Blood ran freely from his brow. He looked over his shoulder to see me and the boys. The four of us happily waved back at him. He looked so mad and embarrassed.
