Page 16 of Drop the Gloves
“You wanna fucking go?”he found himself yelling as Smith pushed him again.
Smith looked startled for a moment—he actually did a double-take—and then grinned widely around his mouthguard.“You sure you wanna do that, 21?”
Normally, that would be when Evan would come to his senses and realize, no, he absolutely did not want to do that.He liked his teeth and not being in the penalty box, thank you very much.Except he knew that if he backed out now, it would only get worse.It was already fucking awful, enduring Smith’s pestering, and if he didn’t stick up for himself, it would be open season for the rest of the game.
So he did the mature thing; he dropped his gloves.
Smith’s eyes lit up in delight.He threw aside his stick and gloves, and brought up his fists.Oh, right.The fighting part.Evan managed to block the first punch and took the other to his shoulder pad.Not bad.He had no idea what to do with his own hands, so he clenched them hard and started swinging wildly.He hit Smith, though he wasn’t tracking where or how hard, but he figured any contact was good contact.But Smith had a hand on Evan’s shoulder and was doing a good job manhandling him so Evan couldn’t get in a decent punch.It also put him at the mercy of Smith’s more skilled jabs.In his adrenaline rush, Evan didn’t feel anything until the one that connected square with his nose.
All that worrying about his teeth getting knocked out, he’d forgotten about his nose.
When he inevitably fell to the ice seconds later with Smith on top of him trying to get a few more blows in before the refs pulled them apart, Evan felt dizzy.
When he finally got up, recollecting his helmet, gloves, and stick so the refs could escort him and Smith to their respective penalty boxes, it was to cheers from the crowd and stick taps from his teammates.He felt like a gladiator, putting on a show for the masses.
Too bad he’d lost.They killed gladiators who fought as bad as him, didn’t they?
After he sat down in the penalty box, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair.An attendant offered him a towel, which he took as a hint and dabbed at his face.Yep, blood.Great.He held the towel in place over his nose, sighed, and tilted his head back so he could look at the jumbotron.Sure enough, they were replaying the fight.Evan thought he looked reasonably good when he dropped his gloves.Less so after that.After they showed the punch to his face that took him out, Evan winced.He’d fought like shit.Looked like a damn rookie.
Granted, it was his first career fight.He was lucky he got any hits in.
“21!”
Evan looked over to the other penalty box, where Smith was leering at him.
“You fight like shit, kid.”
Kid.Always a stupid kid.
“You fight like an old man, fuckface,” he yelled back and turned to watch the game.He didn’t look back at him the rest of the penalty, or at the fans pounding on the glass behind him.He just wanted this game to be over so he could sulk in peace.
God, what if he had media tonight?He didn’t want to answer questions about the worst fight in the history of hockey fights.He didn’t have the training to be diplomatic about Smith provoking him or his own incompetence.
“Fuck me,” he grumbled.He put his helmet back on and watched the clock tick by.Because it was a five-minute penalty, he’d have to wait for his time to expire and for a stoppage in play before he could head to the bench.He could kiss the rest of his shifts goodbye until the third period, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he sat more than usual as punishment for taking such a dumb penalty in a game where the team was already struggling.
All in all?Not worth it.
Not to be outdone, Barczyk joined him in the box shortly after.He skated hard into the Python’s zone, chasing an errant puck.The goalie covered it well before Barczyk got there, but Barczyk didn’t slow down and instead did a hard stop right in front of the crease.Snow flew and covered the goalie, who glared up at Barczyk.
A grand total of three seconds later—Evan counted, holding his breath because he knew what was about to happen—Barczyk was cross-checked from behind.He stumbled, fell into the goalie, and then immediately threw off his right glove to deliver a blind right hook at the person who’d hit him.He got in a great hit to the jaw of the Python’s defenseman.By the time he’d regained his balance, Barczyk had both fists up.
Unfortunately for him, the defenseman had no interest in fighting.He skated away, holding his jaw, while the goalie skated after him in solidarity.Barczyk stood in the crease with his arms out in awhat the fuck?gesture, and even from the box, there was no mistaking his bewilderment.
When the refs gave Barczyk his own five-minute major, Evan kind of felt bad for him.
“I didn’t even get to fight!”Barczyk complained as he stormed into the box.He threw his helmet into the corner, gave Smith the finger, and sat down with a thump a little too close to Evan.His chestnut curls were sweaty and almost straight, matted against the sides of his head.“The asshole hit me first!What kind of jackass doesn’t fight back when punches are thrown?”
“You did snow his goalie,” Evan pointed out.
“Et tu, Abs?”Barczyk grumbled.He leaned back against the glass, oblivious to the fans taking selfies behind them.At least they were in Pittsburgh and it was their own fans.Evan hated being in the box during away games, because the crowds could be rude if not downright vulgar as they heckled him.
“I’m just saying?—”
“That because I’m an asshole, I deserved it?”
“I didn’t—” Evan blushed.“I would never?—”
“Call me an asshole to my face?”He’d been staring glumly at the rafters, but his gaze shifted briefly to Evan, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
