Page 110 of A Little Jaded

She’ll be fine.

She’ll be fine.

The sound of skates gliding against ice cuts through my spiraling thoughts as the referee approaches us.

Preparing for the game to start, I shake my head and squeeze the stick in my palms a little tighter.

Focus.

Reeves is on my right. Griffin on my left. Drake and the rest of his team skate into position. It’s a shame we can’t meet at the center line or face off since Drake’s a defender. I’m not too worried, though. We’ll have our time. Hismovements are slow as he skates into position, though I can feel his stare. Motherfucker probably feels like he’s on top of the world right now after the last time we saw each other. Joke’s on him. He didn’t play fair, and now it’s my turn to knock him down a peg or two. Leaning forward, I block him out and palm my stick, preparing for the ref to drop the puck and blow the whistle.

Three. Two. The puck slips from the ref’s fingers and falls to the ice. I slap it to my left toward a waiting Griffin and dodge the Grizzlies’ center. Charging around one of the defenders, I move into the pocket, stopping short. Ice sprays as I screech to a halt, turn, and prepare for the pass I know is coming. Like clockwork, Griffin chips it off the board, and I dribble it around the back of the net. From my periphery, I catch a flash of yellow.

Yeah, I see you.

Drake sprints toward me, thinking he’s caught me off guard, but I slap the puck through his spread skates where Griffin stands. With his stick wrenched back, he waits for the perfect moment, then slaps the puck into the corner of the net. The flight flashes red, and the siren wails.

One to nothing.

Fuck. Yes.

The Hawks whoop on the ice and at the bench, celebrating our first point, and, not gonna lie, it feels good. A huge part of me wanted to come out here and beat the shit out of Drake before the whistle even had a chance to blow. But winning like this? Embarrassing Drake on his own ice? It might even be sweeter than ending the night with split knuckles and Drake’s blood on my fists.

Then again, it’s still early. Anything can happen.

We go again, setting up for the next play. This time, the Grizzlies’ center steals the puck, but one of our defensemen manages to bat it away from him, recovering it and shootingit across the blue line. Reeves receives the pass, handling the puck like a seasoned pro as he spins around a Grizzlies’ defenseman, then slaps it my way. Drake’s close, but I manage to dodge him at the last second. He slams into the glass, causing an “Ooooh!” to echo throughout the arena as I pass the puck to Griffin, then turn around and wiggle my fingers in a toodle-oo motion. Yeah, I’m acting like a dick, but at this point, I don’t really give a fuck.

Drake’s face is red beneath his mask, and my grin widens before I get my head back in the game and try to help my teammates out. Then, like a fucking bull, Drake charges straight toward me. Clearly, he doesn’t give a shit about the penalty we both know he’ll face if he does what I think he’s going to, but if he’s game, so am I. With a heavy thump, the air whooshes out of my lungs as I’m pushed back, sliding on the ice and trying to keep my balance while fighting off the uppercut to my gut.

Apparently, Dickless didn’t like me toying with him.

“Don’t worry, asshole,” I say between grunts as he pins me to the boards and hits me over and over again. “I can embarrass you this way, too.”

Whistles blow around us as Drake throws off his gloves, and I do the same, ready to finally blow off the pent-up frustration that’s been building since the moment I saw Raine’s bruising. I dodge his right hook, land a jab to his nose, and wind up for a cross-hook combo. His head snaps back from the impact of my hits, but he recovers quickly and yanks me into a bear hug.

“You want your ass kicked again, Taylor?” he spits. “You’re lucky I didn’t break your fucking kneecap.”

When he connects another brutal uppercut, my abs scream in protest as I twist his jersey in my fist, hold him in place, and land a right hook to his eye.

“And you’re lucky I didn’t call the cops.” I wind up foranother hit. A searing pain explodes across my knuckles, but his grunt is like music to my fucking ears. “Never been one to fight fair. Right, Haitt?”

I shove him away from me and prepare for another hit, only to be torn apart by the refs and my teammates. Like my head breaking through the water’s surface, whistling ensues, and the booing of the crowd finally registers as the referee drags us both to the penalty box.

It’s only the beginning.

Ninety-eight seconds later, Griffin scores again. Yeah, I’m counting. The red light glows behind the Grizzlies’ net, and the crowd boos again as Griffin skates around the rink with his glove raised in the air. With a grin, he moves past me in the sin bin, and I slam my hands against the glass, cheering him on. Seconds later, the Grizzlies take possession of the puck and dart toward our goalie, looking for blood. Keeping his stance low, Dreggs watches the Grizzlies’ left wing dribble the puck down the ice toward him. When the opponent winds up and slaps it into the left side of the net, anger surges through my veins.

Fuck.

So much for having a big lead. After the power play, the ref lets me out of the box, and I’m more than ready. Racing forward, I let the ice spray as I stop short at the blue line, anxious for the face-off again and scoring our team another point.

It takes a little while, but before the whistle blows ending the first period, we manage to do exactly that, putting the score at three to one.

The second period is uneventful, but by the third period, I’m ready to end this thing.

As I head toward the blue line, I catch Drake glaring at me. His mouth is swollen from earlier, and it makes me grin back at him. Yeah, he’ll be feeling it tomorrow. I crouchforward, preparing for the next play. When the puck slips from the ref’s fingers, I slap my stick against my opponent’s, then snap the puck off the boards, passing it to a waiting Reeves. In a flash, he dodges the Grizzlies’ defender, and I race toward the red line, trying to put myself in position. The puck flies through the defender’s legs, and I catch it just in time, dropping it into the bottom corner of the net.

The red light flashes, and I grin, skating toward the bench where Cameron waits to swap places. It feels good to be here. On the ice. The crowd booing. I hide my amusement as I bask in the sound. Little do they know, it only feeds my adrenaline and the high accompanying every fucking score. As I steal a drink of water, I catch Drake staring up at Raine in the stands with a smirk. It makes my blood boil. Just like that, my high disappears, and I want to kill him.