Page 69 of Rookie Move
“That’s the one. It was a clean hit, but they still blame us. And then I embarrassed this other asshole in a fight during the preseason. He wants a rematch. You’re the new kid so he’ll probably fuck with you to draw me out.”
Great. Leo wasn’t exactly known for his fighting. Unlike so many other NHL players, he’d skipped Juniorsin favor of college hockey, where fighting was illegal. “You want me to take a swing at him?”
“Fuck no. Just put the biscuit in the basket, college boy. I’ll follow up. Just watch your back.”
“All right. Thanks.”
Leo got dressed, wondering if O’Doul had decided to count him as a real teammate after all.
***
When the player card went to the refs before the game that night, Leo half expected his name to be missing from it. In spite of his big night in Arizona, he wouldn’t put it past Coach to try to teach him a lesson in humility.
But apparently not. Because his name was on the card. And he was ready.
The mood was a little slap-happy in the locker room. Castro hid several players’ protective cups during elimination soccer, and was chased around the dressing room and pelted with them when they were eventually found. But O’Doul wasn’t part of the pregame shenanigans tonight. Instead, the captain sat in the corner, his head bowed. And every few minutes he muttered to himself.
Leo nudged Silas. “He okay?”
Silas shrugged. “Guess so. That’s how he stirs up the crazy before a rough game. He’ll be okay after we start.”
Leo felt buoyant, in spite of his team’s edgy attitude toward its opponent. His phone was full of well-wishes from his family and friends. This was it, ladies and gentlemen. The highest level of play a guy could see in professional hockey.
They gathered around for a last-minute chat with Coach Karl, who looked even more ornery than usual. “This could be a real shit storm. Just let the refs do their thing and don’t lose your cool, boys. Revenge doesn’t get us to the play-offs, you hear?”
There were murmurs of agreement, then the chute door opened and it was on.
As predicted, the game got ugly early. Lots of trippingand slashing in the corners. Leo found himself playing dirtier than he liked to. And he took two minutes for tripping before the first period was over.
Coach had a few choice words about that during intermission. “If you’re gonna fight back, rookie, don’t be so fucking blatant. Even my aunt Sally would have called that penalty.”
Leo barked out a laugh. “I’ve met Aunt Sally and she’s hella sharp.”
Worthington only growled.
Leo’s sense of humor took a hit early in the second period, though. The faceoff positioned him against an opposing wing with a snaggle-toothed snarl. “That face won’t stay pretty tonight, boy. Rookie’s gonna get ass-fucked up by my enforcer,” he threatened.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Leo barked without taking his eyes off the ref’s hands. Seconds later, the puck came flying out of the circle in his direction. Leo snapped it out of the air with his stick, winging it back to his own defensemen in a blur of motion.
“Cocksucker,” the other wing growled, jamming the end of his stick into Leo’s ankle.
Fuck. A bright shimmer of pain radiated up his leg. And since the action had already traveled down the rink, the ref didn’t notice the illegal jab. Leo skated off in pursuit. It was only pain.
But they weren’t done with him. The jackass wing sideswiped Leo at every opportunity. It was irritating, but nothing he couldn’t handle—or so he thought. Avoiding that dude proved dangerously distracting.
Leo never even saw the big hit coming.
One second he was scraping the puck off the boards, looking for the pass, keeping clear of the wing with an attitude. The next moment he went flying into the plexi, helmet first. For an odd, frozen moment, he locked eyes with a girl seated in the front row while the force of impact kept him hovering over her. Then he crashed to the ice in a heap.
The air got weirdly cold andloud. It took a moment for Leo to realize that his helmet had popped off. He was lying on the ice feeling stunned. He opened his mouth to take a breath, and it didn’t quite work.
Shit.
The noise in the rink pressed in on him, and the lack of oxygen to his lungs began to freak him out, too. But just as panic threatened to set in, he heard an old familiar voice in his head.Give it a second, son. That’s what his retired college coach used to say whenever he or someone else got the wind smacked out of them. So Leo waited out that awful moment when his lungs forgot their job. O’Doul was somewhere nearby, cussing up a storm. “Illegal fucking hit to thefucking head!”
Leo’s self-preservation instincts kicked in. Even before he could properly inhale, he began scrambling upward, digging a blade into the ice and rising to his feet. Only a pussy stayed sprawled on the rink. And he was okay. He hadn’t even blacked out.
Standing up, Leo finally got a breath of air. The bench swam into view, and Leo could see the trainer opening the door, about to walk across the ice to check on Leo.
