Red Line (The Games We Play Book 1) by L.A. Witt

Red Line (The Games We Play Book 1) by L.A. Witt

Author:L.A. Witt [Witt, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: GallagherWitt Publishing LLC
Published: 2024-06-12T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 15

Theo

This game was not going well. We were down by two halfway through the second period, and now we were setting up for a faceoff in our defensive zone. Not ideal with their first offensive line on the ice; their right winger already had two goals tonight, and I had no doubt he was itching for a hat trick.

Easton was doing his damnedest to keep us alive, but we’d stupidly allowed too many scoring opportunities. That was especially bad when this team knew all of Easton’s tricks and weaknesses.

“Easton is solid,” Condit had told us earlier. “But we can’t forget that he played for St. Louis for eight seasons before he came to Seattle. Most of the guys there now, they played with him, so they practiced on him. Which means they know how to get under his skin and get past him, and they’re going to use that to their advantage.”

I’d caught Yanni’s eye a few times as he hung out by the bench in his gear and baseball cap. He was clearly stressed out and miserable, and I didn’t think it was all because of his brother’s injury. This was one of those games when we needed him. Putting Easton up against the team who’d traded him a season ago wasn’t necessarily a recipe for disaster, but it wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good plan A.

Plan B was what we had to work with tonight, though, and it wasn’t Yanni’s fault or Easton’s. They’d both feel like shit if we lost this game, so I was extra determined to unfuck things.

I took my position beside one of St. Louis’s wingers. Abrahamsson lost the faceoff, but Grekov poke-checked the puck away from St. Louis’s center. He passed it to Foster, and just like that, my line was breaking away, flying toward the offensive zone.

Two defensemen closed in on Foster, so he passed to Abrahamsson, who whizzed around another skater before sending a stretch pass to me.

I was at the blue line and fully intended to send the puck to Foster, who had set up at the edge of the crease. But right as I was about to pass it to him, he and one of the defensemen were trying to jostle each other out of the way, and Foster’s stick broke.

He dropped it and skated toward the bench. Abrahamsson was coming around the back of the net.

I passed to Grekov to keep the puck moving. He passed it back to me. We cycled it a few times, and as Foster returned to the zone with a new stick in hand, I skated closer to the net, ready to pass to him or Abrahamsson so they could tip it in.

No lane. No room.

I passed to Rusanov. He passed to Grekov. Grekov passed to me.

Still no lane. Still no—

Wait. The goaltender had lost track of the puck. He was behind a dense screen of players from both teams, and he hadn’t yet realized I had possession.

Abrahamsson and I locked eyes.

I wound back and shot the puck as hard as I could.



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