Pipe Dreams (The Brooklyn Bruisers Book 3) by Sarina Bowen

Author:Sarina Bowen [Bowen, Sarina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rennie Road Books
Published: 2017-05-01T18:30:00+00:00

Seventeen

Six hours later, Beacon had only one thing on his mind: a black, six-ounce rubber disc. You don’t get twelve years as a starting NHL goalie unless you can concentrate when it counts.

It was the middle of a hard-fought second period and the score was still zip-zip. Brooklyn was skating hard against Tampa, defending their zone and taking shots, too. They just hadn’t quite gotten lucky enough to score.

Tampa was frustrated, too. Beacon could tell they were working harder than they’d expected to. Their star forward was Danny Skews—a wiry dude with an angry snarl. Beacon had never liked the guy. Tonight his face was even redder than usual. Beacon thought he looked ready to crack under the weight of his own frustration.

That’s cool, he told himself. A rattled offensive player was easier to read. Their opponents got a hold of the puck, and play moved down the ice toward Beacon. He stayed loose, watching the whole zone at once. That was his job—to see every possible outcome of the play, and to be ready to backstop everyone else’s errors. Skews passed to his wing, who passed it back.

Then something beautiful happened. O’Doul got into Skews’s blind spot, and none of the Tampa players gave their man the heads-up. It shouldn’t have worked, but O’Doul leaned in at just the right split second and blocked the next pass, getting his stick on the puck just long enough to redirect it back to Trevi.

Skews got stripped while twenty thousand people watched.

The guy’s response was to trip O’Doul, who went down grinning. And then it got even better, because Skews got called for the trip. That’s when his composure snapped. “Fuck you!” he screamed at the ref, while O’Doul openly laughed.

“C’mon.” The ref pointed toward the sin bin.

“That was a clean check,” Skews argued.

“Really? You want to fight it? We can make it four minutes,” the ref offered.

“Fuck you,” Skews spat again. “Bunch of little fucking faggots, all of you.” He turned toward the penalty box.

“Classy,” Trevi muttered as he skated past.

Beacon had only been a bystander to this little drama up until now, but the gay slur instantly doubled his blood pressure. “Hey!” Beacon called after the ref. “You can’t let him say that shit! How many kids do you think just heard that? Bet the network got it on camera.”

The ref frowned, his eyes following Skews to the box, where the red-faced player was still cursing under his breath. Beacon saw the official think it through, his gaze snapping toward the television cameras. He turned and skated toward the scorekeepers’ bench. When he got there, he leaned in to confer with the official, and the linesmen skated over to join them.

Beacon fidgeted in front of his net, watching the confused faces of his teammates. Although the delay was probably only ten or fifteen seconds and counting, it was unusual in hockey.

A moment later, Beacon was stunned to hear the announcer call for Skews’s ejection from the game. “Unsportsmanlike conduct,” the ref had called.

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