Page 7 of Tye

“If Fury is Carmelle’s grandfather, then you’re related to her,” I continued.

“Carmelle’s mother was my half-sister, which makes Carmelle my niece and her kids my great-nieces. Look at that, Drake, we’ve got blood in common,” Volcano jeered.

“This trash-talking’s getting us nowhere. We need to get your family to safety,” Mom interrupted. “I’ve got somewhere they can go. Get them packed and ready, and I’ll put my plane on standby.”

Mom faced Dad. “And then we need to move up Operation White Knight,” she said.

Dad nodded and turned to Volcano and Spike.

“You’ll stay at the clubhouse, but you’ll be watched. I ain’t trusting blindly.”

“Ditto,” Volcano returned.

Chapter Two.

Ice – Two weeks later.

The roar of the crowd filled my ears, but I was immune to the noise now. Their excitement pumped me up at the start of a game, but as soon as the puck dropped, I was all in. The team we faced tonight was one of our biggest rivals, and it always got dirty. And bearing in mind that Carmine’s shit was still fresh in most people’s minds, this was getting bloody.

Kieran West, major asshole and left defence, was making my life a misery. My position was now centre, and I usually hit the goal with unerring accuracy. West had muttered insults in my direction throughout the first period, which led to me assisting in our first goal. Since then, the ignorant remarks had been upped. Hell, I was doing my best not to flare up, but shit, that was my brother that West kept ragging on.

We were halfway through the second period now.

The puck hit my stick, and West barrelled towards me. I juked left, spun, darted right, and struck. Even before it hit the back of the net, I knew the puck would be going in. Seconds later, the goal flashed, and the siren screeched.

My teammates headed for me as I skated around the net.

West skidded to a halt, glaring and hate in his expression.

“That’s for my faggot, whore brother. Remember him, West. Carmine Michaelson. Every fuckin’ goal I score is gonna have Carmine’s name on it!” I yelled across the ice as Roberts, our left wing, hit me to celebrate.

West glowered as he skated away, and I guessed tonight was about to get rougher. But now I was pissed. Fuck yeah, I felt fired up and was having the game of the season. I’d pulled everything out; I deked and juked, defended, passed, and by the end of the second period, we’re four goals up. West could suck me.

Coach grinned as I hit the bench in the locker room and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Whatever’s got into you guys, continue it. The Armourers can’t keep up with you. Michaelson, three fucking goals and an assist,” Coach crowed.

“We have a problem. West, coach. He’s been slinging stuff about Tye’s brother. I’ve heard him yell faggot, whore, and West asked if Tye banged his own brother. West even accused Tye of being fucked as a kid, too. That shit has no place on the ice,” Porter stated.

Coach turned to me, his face a scowl. “That true?”

“Ain’t nothing I can’t handle. Coach, I’m good,” I replied.

Coach studied me and shrugged. “Michaelson, I’ll be putting in a report, and I want statements from everyone who’s overheard anything tonight. The NHL needs to react the same way the MLB is. If we condone West’s words, then we’re as bad as him. Rise above it, Michaelson, and keep scoring. That is the best revenge,” Coach said.

I nodded as Coach continued with his pep talk, which put me in the zone.

???

I spun and intercepted the puck that Roberts passed. Speeding down the ice, I saw West coming again. A grin crossed my lips, and I aimed it towards Ward.

Ward flew forward, and as West changed direction to intercept him, Ward flicked it back. The puck nestled in the heel of my stick, and I raced ahead, cupping the puck. West chased me as Ward skated in front to distract him. But West had no chance as I was flying, and I shot.

My arms shot up high above my head in celebration, ain’t no way that was ever going to miss or be saved. The puck lay in the corner as the scoreboard screamed: seven goals to nil.

With one arm high and the other pointed at West, I bellowed my goal. “Score for my faggot brother, Carmine!” I yelled.

Grinning, I turned away. Four goals and one assist. I was on fucking fire tonight.