A shot bounces off the crossbar with a clink, sliding into the crease. Reflexes kicking in, I throw myself to the ice and cover it with my glove to stop the play. Or at least, the play should stop—but the officials have swallowed their goddamn whistles.
Woodbine’s forward, Burgess, wedges his stick beneath my glove, digging to knock the puck loose. It’s times like this I wish goalies could fight according to hockey code because right now, I want to get up and pummel this dick. Everyone knows you don’t mess with the goaltender after a save. Not only is it cheap as hell, it’s pointless. Any resulting goal will immediately get called back.
As I glance up to see what the fuck is going on with the refs, Burgess jabs my hand, followed by a slash to my wrist. The blade lands above the cuff of my glove, hitting bone. I drop my head, gritting my teeth as white-hot pain radiates up my forearm.
Dirty move, dick. I already know I’ll be feeling the effects of that for a few days at a minimum.
Reid skates over, cross-checking Burgess out of the way. “Back the fuck off.”
“What’s your problem, Holloway?” Burgess throws down his stick and skates forward, getting in his face.
The whistle finally sounds but it’s too late. After a heated period, the tension has boiled over. I push to stand as the rest of the players talk shit and shove each other, escalating into a full-blown scrum. Even our scrawniest freshman is getting into it with one of their smaller guys. Chase is yelling encouragement at our team from the bench, no doubt wishing he’d been on the ice to participate. Since I’ll get pulled if I get anywhere near it, I keep a wide berth.
“Touch our goalie again, and you’ll be leaving on a stretcher,” Reid spits.
“Cry about it, bitch.” Smirking, Burgess brings a glove to his chin, pretending to ponder. “Think they’ll let you switch schools again when you shit the bed here, too?”
Even I’m about to take a swing at this guy.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Reid tosses his gloves aside and grabs the front of Burgess’s jersey, roughly yanking him forward. Reid’s fist connects with his nose, making an audible crack. I can’t lie; it’s highly satisfying to watch. They exchange a few more swings back and forth, with most of the successful ones coming from Reid before the officials manage to pry them apart. He’s immediately ejected from the game while Burgess goes to the penalty box.
Not surprisingly, the commotion on the ice amps up the crowd, and the atmosphere in the arena feels more like the playoffs than the regular season. It’s a brutal, physical grind with penalties left and right for both sides, as well as a shit ton of goalie interference against me that keeps going uncalled.
The score remains tied until the last ninety seconds, when Dallas sinks a shot between the five hole, narrowly sparing us from a round of overtime. Thank fuck.
By the time we make it into the dressing room, we’re drenched and bagged. Reid is pulling on his charcoal dress socks, having already showered and gotten dressed while waiting for the game to wrap up. He’s also sporting a nasty bruise beneath his right eye, but it pales compared to what he did to the other guy.
“Congrats, man.” Chase claps him on the back as he passes. “You’re officially a Falcon now.”
Reid snorts a laugh, fastening the cuffs of his light blue dress shirt. “Glad I finally passed my initiation.”
I fist-bump his shoulder on the way by. “Thanks for defending my honor, Holloway. You’re a true gentleman.”
“You wish. I’ve been looking for an excuse to kick that guy’s ass for three goddamn years.”
“Always awkward when you can’t stand someone on your team,” I agree, jerking my thumb at Chase. “I mean, we all have to put up with that guy. Yikes.”
Chase stops untying his skates and flips me off with both hands.
When I reach my stall, I hang up my helmet and tug my drenched jersey overhead. While the average set of hockey equipment clocks in around 20-25 pounds, my goalie gear weighs twice that by the end of a game. I’m sweaty, exhausted, and I need a gallon of electrolytes followed by a day’s worth of food. I have a nagging pain in my hip that tells me I need to get my hands on an ice pack, stat… and I’m itching to look at my phone.
Obviously, that’s what I do before I even finish taking off my equipment.
Tinker Bell: It makes me happy to know I’m also the kissing exception.
Tinker Bell: Killer game, Hades. That save at the end was *fire emoji*
She was watching? Shit, I’m kind of glad I didn’t know. Silly as it may be, that would’ve made me more nervous than a stadium of eighteen thousand fans and a myriad of faceless cable television viewers.
Hades: Thanks, Tink.
Tinker Bell: Wish I could wear your jersey for good luck, but it might raise some eyebrows.
Hades: You can always wear it alone for me.
Tinker Bell: With nothing underneath, right? Just want to make sure I understand the assignment.
Hades: Fuck. Yes, please.
Tinker Bell: Wouldn’t want to get it wrong and make you have to spank me.
Hades: Standing in the middle of the locker room here. You’re killing me.
Tinker Bell: angel emoji
Post-win celebrations at our hotel carry on until Coach Miller orders everyone back to their respective rooms. Because he’s happy with our performance, he lets things go a solid hour later than usual, and it’s after eleven before everyone calls it a night.
Chase and Dallas peace out to their place across the hall, leaving me alone with Reid, who’s wasted. Not just drunk; he’s swaying and slurring and bumping into inanimate objects. I’m fully sober other than the adrenaline high from a good game.
Realistically, we should both get to bed, but it doesn’t seem like sleep is anywhere in sight for either of us. I’m trying to read, and Reid is stumbling around our room getting undressed.
“Saw you with Carter’s sister the other day,” Reid remarks, nearly losing his balance as he tugs off his dress pants.
My blood turns to ice, and I set my copy of Atomic Habits next to me on the bed. “You did?”
“Yeah. You two were leaving the arena after dark. She’s got pink hair, super hot? That’s her, right? I remember her from Chase’s party.” He casually tosses his dress shirt onto the desk chair, seemingly unaware of the fact he’s sitting on information that could blow up my life.
Panic takes hold, and my thoughts start to race. I was definitely more handsy with Seraphina than I should’ve been on our way back to my car after our encounter in the announcer’s box. Thinking with my dick yet again, even after we’d already had sex.
If Reid saw us, who else did? Has he mentioned this to Chase? Or to anyone?
“Listen,” I start. “That’s complicated.”
Smooth, dumbass. Reid is so drunk I could tell him I’m an astronaut and he’d probably buy it. Yet I chose to go the worst possible route: admitting guilt and making it seem like an even bigger deal than it is.
“Complicated how?”
I’ve already dug myself this deep; might as well keep excavating. “Carter doesn’t know, and you’d be doing me a solid if you helped keep it that way.”
He flops onto his bed next to mine, stretching out his legs. “Fair enough. I won’t say anything.”