Killian (On the Line #1) - Brenda Rothert Page 0,9
Adam Brotz, an asshole I wanted to fight with every time we played his team. The ref stood between us, holding the puck in the air, looking at the announcer’s box for the okay to drop it.
“Heard the Ice Queen bought your team,” Brotz said to me. “She must have a thing for losers.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Brotz laughed. “She’s fuckin’ hot, man. I’d like to melt the ice between her legs.”
I shoved his shoulder and he slid backwards, losing his balance.
“Have some fuckin’ class, asshole,” I said as his back hit the ice.
He scrambled up and barreled into me, grabbing a fistful of my sweater. It was on then, and the puck hadn’t even dropped. The crowd roared to life as Brotz and I traded blows.
“Come on, man,” Liam said from beside me. “Get the puck on the ice.”
One of Brotz’s guys had a hold on his shoulder and we both glared at each other, silently agreeing to delay this altercation for a few seconds.
When the puck finally dropped, he hooked it and shoved into me. We threw down our gloves at the same time and traded a few more hits. By the time I got to the Flyers’ penalty box, I was breathing hard and tasted blood. I slumped onto the bench, drowning out the comments from the Oilers fans seated in the rows behind me.
“You wouldn’t know a winning record if it walked up and bit you in the ass, Bosch!” Brotz yelled from his team’s penalty box.
“You all pissy ‘cause you can’t get any, Brotz?” I hollered back. “You find out that size actually does matter?”
He gave me a murderous look. “You ready? You ready for more?”
I put my hand up to my ear. “Can’t hear you. What?”
“I’m gonna fuck up that pretty face, Bosch.”
“You say something? I can’t hear you. You’ve got such a soft little voice, man.” And so we passed two minutes of penalty time.
As the final seconds ticked past, the timer’s hand was on the lock to my box, and as soon as the timer hit zero, he threw the lock and I bolted out. Brotz was on me, and I shoved him off and raced down the ice.
His comments about Sidney and our losing record had pissed me off more than he realized. We’d win this game and then I’d rub his shit-talking nose in it.
Our goalie Shuck was made of lead tonight. He was slow and didn’t seem to care. The Oilers scored when the puck slid right past him. It was as if there had been no one in goal.
By the time we got to the locker room at the end of the first period, we were down 3–2 and I didn’t know if I was more pissed at Brotz or our shitty defense.
“The fuck is your problem, Shuck?” I demanded. “Wake the fuck up. You’re killin’ us.”
“I know, man. My knee’s bothering me,” he said.
“This ain’t the fuckin’ Ice Capades. Get your shit together.”
Orion took over, riding Shuck’s ass for several minutes. I took the ice pack our trainer held out to me and put it on my shoulder.
“We need to pull this one out of the toilet,” I said to Bennett, who sat beside me on the locker room bench.
He nodded silently, looking as if he was a million miles away.
“You alright, man?” I asked.
“Huh?” He turned to me. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay.”
I got my mind back into the game as soon as we returned to the ice. It was a battle. My body ached all over by the time we hit the locker room at the end of the third period, having won 6–5.
Pissed as I was at our defense, the second line had scored two goals. That was encouraging. Without their contribution, we’d have lost. The new guys Orion and Sidney had brought to the team were hungry and they’d proven themselves tonight.
As I stepped into the locker room, Orion was laying into the defense and every other word was fuck. Not that they didn’t deserve it. I stripped off my gear and lowered myself into a tub of ice, my bruises and sore muscles making me wince. When I put my headphones back on, thoughts of Sidney snuck back into my mind. Had she watched the game tonight online? I had a sudden urge to call her and talk about it. But I didn’t even have her number, so that was out.
The guys were wound up after such a close win, so we went out to