Page 47 of Slap Shot
The puck dropped and Jax immediately tried to decapitate Marcus with a check that sent him flying into the boards. The impact echoed through the arena. Marcus bounced up, eyes blazing.
"That all you got, you jealous fuck?"
Oliver carried the puck through center ice, feeling every eye on him. His performance bonuses had been the worst revelation, proof that management valued him more than guys who'd been grinding for years. The resentment burned.
Ethan came at him low and dirty, clearly aiming to take his head off. Oliver slipped the hit but caught a crosscheck to the ribs that would have been a major penalty anywhere else.
"Fucking bonus baby," Ethan spat. "Must be nice being teacher's pet."
Oliver dropped his gloves.
His fist crashed into Ethan's jaw before the kid could react. Ethan staggered but came back swinging, catching Oliver in the temple with a punch that made stars explode across his vision.
They went down swinging, throwing punches with months of pent-up frustration behind them. Oliver's knuckles split against Ethan's cheekbone. The rookie's fist drove into his ribs, sending electricity through his nervous system.
Blood hit the ice. Oliver didn't know whose and didn't care. All that mattered was hitting and being hit, working through his rage with violence instead of words.
Coach Vicky let them go for a full minute before skating over.
"Better?" she asked as they separated, both bleeding.
Oliver spat blood onto the ice. "Getting there."
"Good. Keep playing."
The scrimmage turned savage. Every shift brought bigger hits, nastier battles along the boards. Dmitri caught Mateo with a hip check that dropped him flat. Kane body-slammed Jax into the glass hard enough to rattle the arena.
But the real war was in the nets.
Liam was playing like his career depended on every save. When Mateo unleashed a shot that should have beaten him clean, Liam somehow got in front of it, making a save that drew grudging respect even from players who wanted to see him fail.
"Fuck yeah!" Kane roared. "That's why you make starter money!"
Sven answered three shifts later. Oliver broke free on a breakaway that should have been automatic. But Sven read it perfectly, coming out to challenge and making a kick save that defied logic.
As the puck deflected away, Sven pumped his fist and screamed at the ceiling, months of frustration pouring out in one roar.
"Earn those fucking bonuses now, superstar!"
Oliver grinned through his bloody lip. This was what they'd needed, honest hatred and honest respect, earned through skill instead of contract negotiations.
The climax came when Marcus set up behind Sven's net in the final period. The play developed with precision, both teams reading the attack. When Marcus threaded a perfect pass to Kane in the slot, it should have been over.
Instead, Sven exploded across the crease, his pad somehow finding the puck at the last second. The save was so spectacular that the arena fell silent.
Then chaos erupted.
"HOLY SHIT!" Jax crashed into Sven hard enough to knock them both down. "Where the fuck has that been?"
Even Liam skated the length of the ice to slam his glove against Sven's mask. "That was fucking sick, you Swedish bastard."
Something shifted in the team's chemistry. Contract numbers suddenly meant nothing compared to the playermaking impossible saves. They remembered why they'd fallen in love with hockey—not for money, but for moments of pure skill and violence.
By the time Coach Vicky ended it, it was like he'd been through a meat grinder. His jersey was shredded, his body screamed with pain, and his mind was finally quiet.
The locker room had transformed. Players were bleeding and bruised, chirping each other with vicious affection. Liam and Sven sat together, comparing wounds.
"Not bad for a backup," Liam said, spitting blood into a towel.
