Page 112 of Hockey Bois
They did, which only fueled the Jagr Bomb’s rowdiness.
“I got the assist; I’m getting that beer!” GG said as he face-washed Young Greg.
Before any of them could get carried away, the ref emphatically waved his arms. “No goal!” he called.
All five of the Jagr Bombs on the ice rounded on the ref.
“What the fuc—heck you mean, no goal?” Young Greg demanded. “It’s over the line! It’s in the net!”
The opposing goalie took the opportunity to dig the puck out of the net and toss it down the ice.
“It was in!” Young Greg said again.
“Puck was in the net,” the ref agreed, “but it was after the whistle.”
“I didn’t hear a whistle—”
“I blew it, it’s just a shitty whistle. Can’t always hear it.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? He missed on the cover, that’s how I put it in. You were gonna give him an early whistleandnow you’re saying it’s no goal because youmeantto whistle, even if no one heard it?”
“I heard it!” said Little Douche. He grinned at them, though his eyes darted away when he saw Brady skate up to the ref.
“We play to the whistle,” Brady said. He put a hand on Young Greg’s shoulder and nudged him aside; technically only captains were allowed to talk to the refs or they risked a penalty. “We didn’t hear a whistle. You didn’t call ‘no goal’ until well after the play ended.”
“Intent to whistle is a thing, Jens,” the ref said. “Look it up.”
“Yeah, in the NHL. This isn’t the NHL. It’s beer league,” Brady said. Nick tried to ignore how sexy it was when he got all authoritative. “You say no goal, it’s no goal, but you gotta understand my boys getting upset about this. You got a shitty whistle, you replace it. That’s what our league fees are for, right?”
The ref’s face grew red. “You’re right, I say it’s no goal, it’s no goal, so guess what? No goal. Line up; we’re dropping the puck in ten seconds.”
Brady didn’t push more.
He did a whole lot of literal pushing when it came to Young Greg, who was livid. “Line the fuck up,” Brady hissed at him. “You’re pissed? Fine. Use it to score another one. Don’t get yourself in trouble and put us on the PK.”
Young Greg’s reply was inarticulate, but he listened to Brady and behaved himself.
“Hey,” Brady whispered to Nick, crowding his space as he leaned in as close as Nick’s cage would allow. “Win it straight back, yeah?”
He was gone before Nick could question him, and the refs aggressively waved them into position.
There were a lot of things Nick could say about Brady Derek Jensen, some of which were not particularly positive. One thing was for sure, though: the guy knew hockey. From the get-go, he’d gauged Nick’s abilities, and he knew the other teams in the league just as well. He could orchestrate plays that played perfectly to the Jagr Bombs’s strengths and took advantage of every hole in other team’s defense. If Brady told him to win it back, well, he’d do his best.
The ref lined them up at the dot. Nick dutifully squared up, shoved the opposing center out of the way as soon as the puck dropped, and then managed to kick the puck directly behind him.
It was usually an empty spot, that middle ground between the defensemen, but Brady was there waiting. Without a millisecond of hesitation, he fired the puck right on goal. The goalie, clearly not expecting a shot, never mind a scorcher like that, didn’t even flinch before it hit the back of the net. Nick heard a surprised “oh shit” before the Jagr Bombs drowned out everything.
Well,nearlyeverything.
“You trying to blow the whistle on that one?” Brady shot to the refs. It was petty, vindictive, and after that goal,reallyfucking hot.
Young Greg nearly tackled Brady. “Does this mean we oweyoua beer, bro?”
“Not that you’re gonna be the one buying it,” GG said as he patted Brady on the helmet. “Nice shot, by the way. Feel free to launch those any time, but maybe lemme know to duck.”
It was Nick’s turn next in the congratulatory circle. “DoIget the beer for the assist? Also, I don’t know if heckling the ref counts as a celly.”
Brady wore a huge grin. “Fuck off, all of you.”
