Page 84 of Truce: Declan
The puck slides back to Owen, and Grant is right on it. He pulls back his stick and swings high, landing a blow to Owen’s face, striking his nose.
Blood droplets fall onto the ice.
Kyler and I race across the rink for Grant, refusing to let him get away with it. Kyler slams him against the boards, and I join in. We’re not the only ones. Jasper is right behind us. The other team’s players do the same, racing toward Grant to protect or defend him.
Telling Owen to go after Grant for me was a mistake. He shouldn’t be fighting my battles. Not that what I said mattered. Grant was clearly out for blood. That’s nothing new, whether at home or on the ice.
I pound blow after blow into Grant’s ribcage when Conrad yanks me backward on the ice. “Give it a rest,” Conrad says, holding me back.
Charlie Hayes joins in the fight, attacking Kyler along with another one of the Island Bruiser’s players. It’s hard to see who is fighting whom with my back turned to the scuffle.
The referees blow their whistle, attempting to break the fight apart. Grant gets sent to the penalty box. He’s not the only one. Kyler and I do as well. Not that I mind, except they have an advantage with one more player than we do.
* * *
Kyler and I are released from the penalty box, but we’re down by a score. I don’t let it bother me. We still have plenty of time to kick some Bruiser ass.
Intermission gives us another little break while we are shuffled into the locker room. There’s no pep talk from the coach. He shakes his head, glaring at us in disappointment.
“They’re out there slinging insults to get you to start fights. They want you ejected from the game or, at the very least, off the ice,” Malone says. He’s not oblivious to what’s been going on.
“We still have two more periods. The game isn’t over yet,” Chase adds. He’s trying to bring up morale. We’re only down by one score, but it was a point that should never have happened. Thanks to the sin bin, they managed to get on the scoreboard.
Somehow, Owen’s nose isn’t broken. He’s got a couple of steri-strips on from the assault, but when he puts the helmet back on, he’ll look good as new. A little blood on his uniform, and it’s just like another day at the ice rink.
Coach gives us some advice and things to work on before sending us out of the locker room.
I follow the guys back to our bench and sit while we wait for intermission to end. I can’t help but glance in Charlotte’s direction. If I could run over there and talk with her, I would. But that’s not allowed. I can’t abandon the team.
Malone is the last one out of the locker room. “What is it?” he asks.
He must have caught me staring. It’s not like I can tear my gaze away from her. “Charlotte Grace.”
“I thought you two were done. She’s a liability, son.”
I open my mouth to object to his description of her, but he cuts me off.
“She’s a distraction. Is there something you need to say to her to get off your chest?”
I nod vigorously. Malone snaps at one of our hockey equipment interns.
“Yes, sir,” the intern asks with bright eyes.
“Go fetch the redhead,” Malone points at Charlotte Grace. “Have her come over to our bench. We need a word with her.”
“Yes, of course.” He tears off in pursuit of her and doesn’t ask questions; he does as he’s told.
“Get your head back in the game, Reece.” Malone doesn’t want to let it go. Aren’t there other guys for him to harp on? I’m not the only one who is distracted.
TWENTY-THREE
Charlotte
Coming to the Island Bruisers game wasn’t my idea of fun. Yes, I love hockey, but I’m here strictly as a favor to one of the foster parents at the park district. Their daughter has never been to a game, so I offered to take her.
And seeing as how I get free tickets to the Island Bruisers games, it made sense for me to bring her. I wish that we could have sat anywhere else.
Behind the glass is fantastic, the best seats in the house as far as I’m concerned, but it’s also the worst because my father is shouting at his players, harassing them for missing a shot or failing to make a goal.
