Page 46 of Stick It
The crowd is on their feet, screaming him on.
Come on, Reed. You’ve got this.
He has the perfect shot at the net, but he fumbles the puck and it goes wide.
I slump back on the bench, my groan of frustration turning into outright cursing when NSU steals possession and takes it all the way home. It’s a cheap deflection that somehow finds the back of Griffin’s net, but still. 2–0.Fuck.
The first line is called up for our last shift of the game. It’s a slugfest, with both teams refusing to back down. Bodies collide, sticks clash, and the air is thick with the sound of skates carving into the ice. I maneuver through the fray, my eyes darting, searching for an opportunity. The Glaciers’ defense is relentless, their aggression intensifying as they aim to maintain their lead.
Dylan seizes the puck. Immediately, she is swarmed by NSU players who back her into the boards. One player twice her size rams into her so hard that her head snaps back against the plexiglass with a sickening thud.
Red flashes across my vision, teeth grinding as I do a sweep of the ice for the ref. He should be blowing his fucking whistle, announcing a penalty—something. Except the uselessfucking prick has his back to the scene, missing the whole damn thing.
Anger simmers in my veins, and instead of positioning myself for an opening, I start toward her, instincts overriding reason when I see her slumped against the boards, head down.
She could be seriously fucking injured.Thisis why women shouldn’t play men’s hockey. It’s not that she’s not capable; it’s that she can’t stand up to two-hundred pounds of pure muscle. It’s that she’ll get herselfhurt. Fuckingkilled, even.
However, before I make it to her, her head snaps up, and I catch a flash of menace, of unwavering determination, before she pushes off the boards. In a move so fast I barely catch it, she breaks free from the players who had her pinned. The puck’s still on her stick—untouched. Almost likeshewas the target all along.
She pivots sharply, her agility leaving defenders grasping at empty air as she charges toward the goal. The roar of the arena dulls to a distant hum, as everything narrows to her. Every stride is sharp, controlled—cutting up the ice with a speed no one can match. She weaves through the opposition like they aren’t even there, all instinct and fire. It’s impossible to look away from.She’simpossible to look away from.
Time slows to a crawl as she approaches the goal, her focus unyielding. I find myself mesmerized, air lodged in my throat as, with a swift, decisive motion, she takes the shot.
The puck sails past the goalie and into the net. A singular point on the scoreboard, yet it feels monumental. The arena erupts, but I’m ensnared in a moment of clarity. Where Kyle fumbled his easy goal earlier, Dylan came back from the brink anddominated. She proved to every single person here tonight—player and fan alike—exactly what she’s capable of. She proved that sheearnedher first-line spot.
Not slept her way into it like Kyle vindictively implied.
I admit,there’d been a split second where I wondered if he was telling the truth. Until Ethan came out after Dylan had already fled and shut that shit down. I should have known. Kyle was wasted and feeling sorry for himself, but that’s no excuse to start harmful rumors. I thought Ethan was going to rip him a new one when he found out.
I can empathize with Kyle. I can feel bad for him, but there’s no denying that he just can’t live up to Dylan. He’s not in the same league as her at all. Not even close to her level. What Dylan just pulled off is a thing of beauty.
Sheis a thing of beauty.
I itch with the need to go to her now. To lift her off her feet and celebrate that epic goal, but I hold myself back, my fingers flexing around my stick as I watch her tilt her head back and grin to the floodlights far above us. Ethan approaches, patting her on the back and likely congratulating her. A few other players follow his lead. No one has known what to do with her since she made the roster, but I imagine that will be changing after tonight. With that goal, Dylan will have earned more than just my respect.
I force myself to turn away. I can’t look at her for another second and not go to her. She might deserve her position on the team, but accepting her as anything other than a teammate would be a betrayal to my friendship with Kyle.
So I really need to get the unabating desire to kiss her again out of my head.
The final buzzer sounds, cementing our loss. Despite Dylan’s show-stopping last-minute goal, defeat makes my muscles heavy as I watch NSU celebrate like they’ve won the Stanley Cup and not a stupid exhibition game.
“We played well,” Ethan says, coming over and clapping me on the back. “It’s just one of those things. We’ll get them next time.”
I nod, but his words barely penetrate. It’s a shitty way to start the year. I know this game doesn’t count for anything, but that doesn’t mean NSU isn’t going to hold it over our heads or that the entire team won’t feel the loss as strongly as if it were a championship game.
Begrudgingly, I join the rest of the team, getting in line for the handshake. Dylan is slightly ahead of me, and despite putting her hand out each time, every single Glacier skips over her like she’s not there. Like she doesn’t even exist.
Something about it pisses me off. Every player on the ice, regardless of whether they are an opponent, should have respect for that goal she just pulled off. She was as good as out, but she rallied, gliding down the rink like she had wings on her back instead of skates on her feet. Still, every single NSU player looks at her like she’s nothing more than worn tape—used, discarded, beneath consideration.
My teeth grind, and I have to look away before I snap the finger of the next NSU player to shake my hand. Not because I care about her, but because it’s unsportsmanlike. It’s just fucking respectful to shake hands with the team you played against. To say congratulations even if what you really want to do is drive your fist into their face and knock a tooth loose.
After clapping gloves with the final Glacier, I do a loop around the ice, needing to skate off some of this frustration. The adrenaline from the game. The disappointment of the loss.
Most of the team has already left the rink, probably wanting to drown their sorrows in the nearest pint or pussy they can find. That leaves mainly Glaciers still lingering. I notice several of them talking to Ethan, so I skate over.
“…fucking liability,” I catch Lucas saying. “Only thing she’s good for is relieving the stress after a loss, if you know what I mean.” The sleazeball winks.What the fuck is that supposed to mean?Memories flicker, of how good her lips felt, how perfectlyher body fit against mine, and my blood instantly boils. Does this asshole know how fucking sweet she tastes?
I skate to a stop beside Ethan, spraying shards of ice over Lucas’s skates. He glowers and I smirk right back at the dickwad, making a mental note to go after him with the same ferocity the entire Glaciers unleashed on Dylan the next time we face off on the ice.
