Page 117 of Ricochet
Nate gets control of the puck in our defensive zone and feeds it to Callum. Callum shoots it to me, and then we’re racing up the rink. I pass it back, and he sends it flying with a slap shot into the back of the net. The lamp lights up, and we end the second period tied one to one.
Seconds into the third, Callum is chasing after number eighteen, his blades spraying up ice. When he catches up to him, he throws his shoulder into the other winger’s, crunching him into the boards with a force hard enough to make him crumple to the ice.
It’s just barely a legal check.
He steals the puck and passes it to Nate who makes a shot past the other team’s goalie, putting us in the lead.
As the first line heads off the ice, I skate up next to Callum. “Look at you playing dirtyandsmart.”
“Just trying to teach you a thing or two.”
Spinning on my blades, I skate backwards in front of him. “Are you saying that was for me?” I smirk as though I don’t already know it was in retaliation for the asshole tripping me.
He shrugs, attempting to conceal a grin. “Fucker deserved it. But at least I didn’t get thrown in the sin bin. See? You can do both.”
Callum has always relied a little more on speed and defensiveness rather than assertiveness on the ice. Not that he’s not capable of both. But the fact that he so easily resorted to an act of aggression for me makes me love him even more.
As we enter through the gate, Coach slaps Callum across the shoulder. “Attaboy, Hayes.”
We take a seat on the bench as Brooks’s line goes out for the next puck drop. They manage to hold our lead.
When the clock runs out, the Monarchs win it.
Since this was our lastgame for the next few weeks and we walked away with a win, some of the team decided to go out and celebrate. Even though I would’ve rather taken Callum back to my place so we could play dirty together, he wanted to come. And of course I couldn’t say no.
It was a home game, so a bunch of us met up at a bar some of them come to when we have a few days off from practice and games. We’re all pretty beat from weeks of going nonstop, so it’s mostly a chill atmosphere.
Jesse showed up too, which I wasn’t thrilled about. However, I’ve mostly gotten over the initial impression I got from him. Callum told me they’re more like brothers than anything else.
I guess I’ll try not to kill him.
Even our coach and assistant coach are here, sitting at the bar with beers and shrouded by clouds of smoke.
After Jesse grabs himself a beer, he joins me, Callum, Nate, and Brooks at one of the pool tables in the back. He slumps down on a stool with a heavy sigh.
Callum grins as he leans on his cue stick. “How’d your game go?”
Lynwood’s basketball team had a game tonight as well.
“I’m here without any of my teammates to drink my sorrows away.” Jesse takes a long swallow, then gives his friend a pointed look. “How do you think it went?”
Callum chuckles. “Sorry, man.”
“Whatever,” he says with a shrug. “Congrats on your win though.”
“Thanks.” Callum peers back to watch Brooks scratch the cue ball after sinking the 8-ball in a corner pocket. He laughs. “You lose.”
“Fucking fuck,” Brooks grumbles.
“Rack them up, bitches,” I tell him and Nate.
Nate rolls his eyes and smacks Brooks in the back of the head. He continues muttering curses as he starts racking the balls.
Leaning back against the nearest bar table we’ve claimed, Callum picks up his beer bottle and takes a sip. I sidle up beside him and put my arm around his waist. I’ve gradually been testing what level of public displays of affection he’s comfortable with, but he hasn’t minded so far. I’m probably safe as long as Idon’t openly grope him. Even though the temptation is difficult to resist.
“You guys still haven’t heard from Eric?” Jesse asks.
I grip Callum’s hip as my anger comes rolling in like a tidal wave. Even just hearing his name has me at risk of capsizing.