32: Refuse to Lose by Mignon Mykel

Author:Mignon Mykel [Mykel, Mignon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mignon Mykel
Published: 2017-09-10T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Trevor

April 11

I was so fucking pissed at Byrd.

I had my own shit to deal with, this whole new relationship thing in the heat of playoff season. I didn’t have time to worry about the hell Jordan was putting Marlo and Rori through, and whether or not he was answering calls from his daughter.

Right now, I should have been focused on the game, and about tomorrow’s game, and then the fact that Callie was coming to my place on Thursday.

My mind was racing with things that dealt with Callie, with Marlo and Rori, with Byrd, and they weren’t on the fucking game. It was Game 1 in the First Round. I had better get my head on fucking straight.

“Winski! For Byrd,” Coach yelled, altering our line-up and getting our first line back on the ice. I stood and lifted my leg, resting my ass on the boards as I waited for Fuck Face to skate in. He neared the bench and just as his skate was coming in, I had my own landing on ice.

I may have love tapped him with my stick in the process.

Fucker.

I skated hard to the opposite zone, getting into play nearly immediately. Leeds slapped the puck toward the goal; Texas recovered it, trying to shoot it out of the zone but the blade of my stick made contact, keeping it in.

I played with the puck a bit as I looked around the zone. Spotting O’Connell open, I yelled out and knocked it toward him. He answered the call beautifully, his stick raising and slapping down just in time for his blade to meet rubber, sending the puck in a different direction.

Unfortunately, it didn’t meet net, but bounced toward the back boards.

There was chaos and mayhem going on behind the boards, and I stayed in position in case it became necessary to keep the puck on this side of the blue line.

Suddenly, a whistle was blown and O’Connell was ushered to the penalty box.

“High sticking,” echoed throughout the arena as we skated back toward the bench.

I stood on the opposite side of the boards, still on ice, as Caleb and Jonny flanked my sides.

“Jonny, keep tight,” Coach was saying. “Caleb, Jonesy, Winski, and Byrd. You’re my four.” I groaned to myself as Jordan stood from the bench, ready to get on the ice for the special shift.

“Winski and Byrd, no fists, no grit. Just protect Jonny.” I knew who I wanted to use my fists on, and it sure as hell wasn’t a Texas player. “Caleb and Jones, play tight and make magic. Don’t get tired. Don’t cause whistles.”

Nothing like going into a penalty kill and knowing Coach wanted you out for the entire two minutes but hey, it was why we got paid the big bucks.

Soon, the referees and linesmen were calling us back to the ice. We lined up around the face-off circle as Jonny crouched in net. Within moments, the puck was dropped and all hell broke loose.

This was the type of play I lived for.

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