Page 5 of Break the Ice
My insides wrench as I push away brusquely, looking around to find our teammates closing ranks around us, stopping the Wolves’ players from getting to me.
I get to my feet with a bark, “Bastard had it coming.”
“Shit,” Jayden curses down at the ice, eyes narrowing with the worrisome pull of his brows.
Booing howls through the arena when the ref blows his whistle, gesturing for the fans to quieten.
“Comets, number twenty-one, five-minute major for fighting and match penalty for deliberate injury. Wolves, number fifty-seven, match penalty for spitting.”
Dammit!
“Way to go, Preacher,” Andersen groans when I skate off toward the bench with Hillier and Jayden coasting behind me.
Heading straight to the tunnel, I don’t stop to listen to Coach’s furious yells or the fans’ disappointed grumbles. One skate in front of the other, I go straight to the dressing room, the scars on my feet pulsing as I collapse in front of my cubby, replaying everything that just happened.
It was stupid.
I was reckless.
Still, Presley Tomes deserved every hit. And maybe next time the bastard will think twice before he opens his bigoted mouth to spew any more of his vile insults.
Maybe next time…
Maybe…
The nausea wrenches my stomach up into my chest as the screen shows replays of the lead-up to the fight, with the commentators trying to guess the exchange between us that resulted in this outcome.
Watching it, I recognize the exact moment he mentioned Finley. The same way my face drops on the screen, my heart drops to my feet. Again.
My stomach is swilling, my head spinning as I stare at the leather braid on my wrist. The one I’ve had to get fixed because I’ve never taken it off in the two years since Finley put it on me—the day I left the Bobcats for the Warriors. When I left Portland behind, along with Havenview and The Fellowship.
The day I lefther.
CHAPTER 2
JAYDEN
The win slips through our fingers in the aftermath of Eli’s penalty. A shitshow of a home game opener. This was our time to redeem ourselves after our Conference Cup loss to the Wolves last season, and we failed. Miserably.
“I don’t know what the fuck that was,” Thompson’s grumble cuts through the silence in the locker room. “But this is the fucking start of the season…”
“We’re meant to be motherfucking favorites, not amateur assholes,” Hillier adds, ripping the tape off his legs while the equipment staff gather jerseys into the hamper in the middle of the room.
“Wake the hell up!” Thompson pushes to his feet beside Eli. He hasn’t said a single word since I walked in, hasn’t looked at me.
Still, I can feel his frustration simmering under his skin, same as mine.
Of all the wins we’ve needed, tonight was the one. Redemption. We talked about it and worked for it all goddamn summer. Studied every tape, fixed our weaknesses. Eli losing it wasn’t something I ever saw coming. He’s the cool one, the collected one, the guy who stays far enough away to keep focused.
I swallow down the lump in my throat at the sight of Eli’s beat-up knuckles, a couple of stitches threatening to pull apart while he fusses with the leather bracelet on his wrist. Like it’s the one thing in the whole universe holding him together.
“My ten-year-old could’ve run circles around all you bastards tonight. Pathetic!” Thompson’s scowl pierces through me when I lookup. Spittle flies everywhere while he keeps yelling. “This is our fucking year!”
“We were a bunch of dickheads out there.” Hillier throws a ball of tape across the room as Coach walks in with the rest of the staff.
The dire expression on his face says it all. “I won’t waste my time yelling. Tonight was a disaster. You played like shit, behaved like animals, and got your asses handed to you on your own turf. This is our first home loss. Make it your last. We’re here to do one job: play the best hockey we can to bring the cup home. That’s it. Go home, rest up, and get your heads screwed on tight.”
Pulling a folded-up paper from his suit pocket, he steps up to Eli and holds it out.
