Page 111 of Drop the Gloves
Oh fuck.
Evan wasn’t quite sure what happened after that.One second he was standing there, sick to his stomach.The next, he was skating forward.And then, before he knew what he was doing, he’d dropped his gloves and had his left hand wrapped in someone’s jersey and was swinging his right fist full force at someone’s face.Once, twice, three times in quick succession.Again and again, he swung without any idea if he was making contact with anything breakable or if he was just beating his hand bloody against the guy’s helmet.He didn’t actually care, since he figured his message was pretty clear either way.
You hurt Riley Barczyk?You’re gonna get fucked up.
Oh, he thought blandly as hands came around him and started yanking him hard.This is what it feels like.Wanting to punch someone.
It felt like being really fucking angry.
He let go, and the guy fell backward.Evan, restrained by two refs, was dragged away.It wasn’t until he was shoved into the penalty box that he noticed the medical staff walking out to Riley, still doubled over on the ice.He leaned forward, face pressed against the glass so he could watch as they helped Riley to his feet.He barely heard the arena halfheartedly applaud as Riley was guided to the bench and down the tunnel, his hands now clutching a towel pressed to his face.
“Sit your ass down, Abernathy,” a linesman called as he skated by.“You’re in there for a while.”
He sat down.
After talking to both teams, a ref came to explain the situation to the crowd: “Number 28, Detroit, double minor for high-sticking.”The arena swelled with angry boos.“Number 21, Pittsburgh, five minutes for dropping the gloves.Power Play Pittsburgh.”
This earned even louder and more incredulous boos as the fans screamed over the seemingly unjust call.Evan was glad he wasn’t a ref and hadn’t had to figure that one out.
There was angry pounding on the glass behind him as the fans told him in no uncertain terms how much they hated him.Watching as Number 28 on Detroit had been helped off the ice to go to his own locker room, Evan couldn’t argue: he’d earned the fans’ ire.
He also couldn’t make him feel as bad about hurting that guy as he should.Not yet, anyway.
The next five minutes sucked.It wasn’t so much the penalty, but the isolation.He was trapped in no man’s land, unable to hear how Riley was doing.When Number 28 appeared back on his team’s bench with a puffy nose and swollen eye, whatever possible sympathy Evan might’ve felt dried up.Riley was still back with the medical staff.That was the easiest way to know a hockey player was seriously hurt: they weren’t ready for their next shift.
When he was released back to his team, there was only a minute, and a half left in the game and still no Riley.
“Attaboy, Abernathy.”Coach Jack smacked him hard on the back.“Those were some great punches.Way to stand up for your teammate.”
“How’s Barzy?”he asked.He hoped no one noticed how strained he sounded.
Coach Jack made a face.“Getting stitched up.Lucky he had his mouthguard in for once, or he’d be missing another tooth right now.”
“Why isn’t he back on the bench?”he asked, but the game was starting again and Coach Jack’s attention was gone.He turned to Vassiliev.“Why isn’t he back on the bench?”he repeated, because if someone would know, it should be Vassiliev.
Vassiliev shrugged.“The game’s almost over.I think they didn’t see the point.”
Riley would want to come back out, though.Any of them would.Was it worse than they were saying?But why would they lie?
At the end of the game, Evan was ready to storm into the locker room to find Riley, but he was intercepted and directed off for media coverage before he’d left the tunnel.
“Why?Why me?Can’t I change first?”He bristled as he was guided to a crowd of bright lights and reporters.Normally it was players like Lawson or Turner or Woodward who got pulled aside like this, reappearing in the locker room after everyone else had gotten a head start getting undressed and cleaned up.But mics and cell phones were shoved into his face before he got an answer.
“Great game!”one of the bolder reporters called out.Evan couldn’t see who it was past the lights.“First Star of the game.Your first career Gordie Howe hat trick.Your second career fight ended with a pretty definitive knockout.How’s it feel?”
Evan blanked.He’d dreamed of moments like this since he was a little kid practicing hockey with plastic sticks in his living room.Recognition of all his hard work throughout his career, of his skill and commitment.He remembered the beginning of the season and how desperately he’d wanted that watch during their home opener.Here he was, the one hand-selected for the post-game interviews and everyone who’d ever known him watching at home, proud of him.
Yet all Evan wanted to do was go to the locker room.
“It’s pretty incredible,” he said, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say?He channeled that other Evan who’d yearned for this and tried not to sound like a robot.“Feels great,” he added with what hopefully passed for a real smile.Maybe tomorrow itwouldfeel great.
They asked other questions about him and his line and the team.Blah blah blah.Like he, a third-liner who’d spent the dwindling minutes of the third period in the penalty box, had anything insightful to say about the Riveters making the playoffs.The only real answers he had related to him and Riley and their growing chemistry over the season, but he had to lie through his teeth for those questions.
Well, it’s definitely not because we spent months fucking each other.It must be some other reason.
Finally, they let him go, and he couldn’t hide how eager he was to escape.He practically ran into the locker room and?—
Riley wasn’t there.
