On the Line by Victoria Denault

Author:Victoria Denault [Denault, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Book Group USA
Published: 2016-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Avery

We’re losing. I am really getting fucking sick of losing, especially against my former team. Again. I know I’m scowling as I skate to the bench. I know the fucking television cameras will pick it up and the fucking commentators will talk about it and then the fucking reporters will ask me fucking stupid questions like, “You seemed very tense out there. Was it because the team is still struggling to score?” And I’ll have to give some carefully crafted, passive answer when all I want to do is yell, “YES! I hate being on a team that perpetually sucks!”

“Easy, boss. It’s only two goals. We can make that up,” Ty says as I drop down beside him. Clearly my expression is as pissy as I think it is. “Fuck, you and I can make that up without these chuckleheads.”

“So let’s fucking do that,” I growl, and he nods and butts the side of his helmet against mine.

We have twelve minutes to make this happen. It’s not impossible, but if the rest of the team could get their shit together and try even half as much as Ty, then we’d have better odds.

I’ve reviewed all my teammates’ stats from previous years and other teams and they all have potential. They all earned their spot on this team, so why the fuck can’t they get it together and make this team a contender? Ty stands and goes over the board with his line but not before giving me a reassuring nod.

Before his shift is over he’s scored. “FUCK, YEAH!” I bellow, which turns the head of everyone on the bench, including the coach. Guys swear on the bench all the time, just not me.

The scowl on my face slips a little and I bounce, eager to get out there and add another one. It takes two shifts, but I score one, too, and we end the third tied, no thanks to fucking Echolls, who gives away the puck right in front of our goalie. On the quick pause, Coach writes up the shoot-out players. I know I’m on it. I always take the shoot-out. I have a seventy-six percent success rate.

“Larue, Echolls and Westwood, in that order,” he commands, and my jaw drops. Echolls?

“No.”

I don’t realize I’ve spit the word out of my mouth until the whole bench turns and looks at me. The coach is glaring, as he should. “Got something to say, Seventy-Eight?”

He’s calling me by my number. Never a good sign. “Sidebar?”

“No. You can say it in front of everyone.”

I swallow. “Parsons played his ass off tonight and he has a fifty percent success rate in the shoot-out this season.”

“Yeah. And…” I don’t fill in the blank for him, so he fills it in. In front of everyone, including a furious Beau Echolls, because he knows what’s coming. “And Echolls is only at forty percent.”

I nod.

“Fuck you!” Echolls roars, skating across the ice and shoving Alex out of the way to get right in my face. “You’re a fucking self-righteous bag of shit, you know that?”

“I’m the captain.

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