If I got her to talk to me again, she’d realize acquaintances with benefits is the way to go. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.
“This fucking game, man.” Jaxon flops down onto the bench.
I wouldn’t say we went into this game thinking we’d dominate. We’re the last two undefeated teams, so a lot is riding on tonight’s game.
And right now, it’s not leaning in our favor. The Mustangs are leading 5-2, and you’d think these refs are so far up their ass with some of these god-awful calls.
One of their players fucking elbowed Declan in the face during the first period on purpose, and the refs did nothing.
“Harris, Holmes, Moore.” Coach points to the ice, and we replace three of our worn-out teammates. Not that our energy’s much better.
With Jax, Jere, Declan, Brooks, and I back on the ice together, I hope we can turn this game around. We have been fighting like hell for nearly two whole periods, especially to give Cam some relief.
It's not long before they get another goal, and from the groans around the arena, I can tell the audience is just as upset as we are.
But we don’t give up. We still have a little time left on the clock for this period, and then we have a third period to turn this game around. I’ve seen teams come back from worse.
I skate toward our goal, the puck gliding perfectly with me, but before I can reach the end, one of their players comes out of nowhere, shoving me into the glass and stealing the puck.
I skate like hell to beat him down there, but luckily, Jeremy’s waiting on the other end to steal the puck back. And he does, shooting it back in my direction, but my focus isn’t on the puck. It’s on number65—
O’Connell.
Who’s still charging in Jeremy’s direction even though he no longer has the puck. And before I know it, Jere’s flying into the glass and hitting the ground.
O’Connell laughs. I can see the smug smile as he taps Jeremy with his skate as if he wants Jere to get up and throw a punch.
Jeremy doesn’t get up, though.
I don’t even hear the whistle; I just see Declan skate over to O’Connell and push him against the glass. I don’t even think he’s doing it to fight the guy; Declan knows getting in a fight could cost him at least two games. He just wants him away from Jere.
Who still hasn’t moved.
Our medical team reaches Jeremy as the refs reach Declan and O’Connell.
I still haven’t seen Declan throw a punch, but he’s taken a few. I can see the blood trickling down his face, but all he’s doing is holding O’Connell against the wall.
One of the refs grabs the back of Declan’s jersey and yanks him off, pointing toward our benches.
Jere finally sits up, and there’s a wave of relief as they help him to his feet. He’s pissed, I can tell. That kind of hit, with his back history, could’ve cost him his career.
And O’Connell would’ve known that.
The refs send both teams back to their benches as they get Jeremy off the ice.
But they don’t call a penalty. Even though that hit against Jeremy was a dirty one. An unnecessary one.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “Coach, they aren’t gonna call that? That piece of shit O’Connell should be sitting in the box for that one. Hell, he should be out of the game for throwing a punch at Declan.”
“I think the asshole broke my nose.” Declan runs a towel under his nose to soak up any blood.
“And they could argue that Declan started it,” Coach says.
“Coach, this is bullshit. They’ve been ignoring penalties against the Mustangs all game. He could’ve seriously hurt Jeremy, and helaughed,” I argue.
“And then he quite literally kicked Jeremy while he was down,” Fletch adds.
“I know these refs are fucking idiots,” Coach begins. “But we can’t do anything about that. We can’t force them to make calls. What we can do is get back out there and see them not kicking Declan out of the game as a blessing. You guys have it in you to win this game. So, forget about that piece of shit, O’Connell, and go win this game for Jeremy.”