Hooking - Kristine Allen Page 0,18
shoved it in my mouth, finishing it in two bites. “I don’t fuck with your little habits,” I muttered around a mouthful of chocolate cake. It had to be the chocolate ones, too. None of that vanilla shit or the other random flavors that popped up every so often.
“Are you really gonna go out there with that chocolate shit in your teeth?” Novacek asked, repulsion heavy in his accented voice. He’d been traded to us right at the end of the preseason, and this was the first game of the season he would be playing with us as a right wing to Heikkenen’s left.
In my opinion, he was going to be a great addition to the team. Not only was he a smart player, he had good hands, and hell if he couldn’t find the back of the net like nobody’s business. I wished they would switch him and Halvorson out. Then again, despite our off-ice animosity, Halvorson and I made a great team on the ice.
Along with Dmitry Kalashnik, Andreas Papadopoulos, and Nathanial Sinner, they made up the new faces for the team. Yeah, his last name was really Sinner. It was nice not to be the new kid on the block anymore. Each one of them brought a certain strength to the team, but to integrate everyone took some adjustments. A few were resistant to it; the rest of us realized that it was the name of the game.
Dmitry was a great addition, and we’d been lucky to get him. He was Baranov’s cousin, and they were fierce together.
“Yeah, I am.” I wasn’t, but I couldn’t help fucking with the burly Czech as I smiled with a mouthful of black between my teeth.
He curled his lip and muttered, “Crazy Americans.”
With a chuckle, I took a swig of water, swished it, and swallowed. Jordan Beck chuckled as he quietly laced his skates. McGregor removed his earbuds and pulled his jersey on. After he’d listened to a specific playlist, he wrapped up his pregame rituals with his jersey going on right before we headed out of the locker room door.
As we approached the ice, the chanting from the crowd amplified. Fans stood by the barricades and held their hands out. My gloved hand trailed along above my head to snag them as I passed.
The second my first blade hit the frozen surface, my heart jumped. Adrenaline surged in my system as I experienced the thrill of the game. No matter how many times I stepped out onto the ice, it was always like the first time.
“Let’s do this, boys! Let’s have some fun here!” Halvorson yelled as we started warm-ups. Biscuits slung at Beck left and right, and he blocked the majority of them like his life depended on it. I was thankful that he had a no-trade clause, because he was a wall. It was a challenge to score any time I’d played against him last season.
He swapped out with Bergström, our alternate goaltender. Bergström was young, but also had a lot of promise. I liked him right off the bat.
Like a machine, I went through the motions of warm-ups, pregame pep talks from the coaches, and finally standing on the ice as the National Anthem was belted out. Hand over my heart, I swelled with pride to be starting in the first game of the season. It would’ve driven me nuts to sit on the bench.
The puck dropped, and it was a wicked battle, with Michigan on their A-game. They scored the first goal of the night, and though it left me with an ache in my chest, it built up a fierce determination in us all. Beck was hot as a motherfucker, but he reeled it in, and I saw the burning in his eyes.
That was the only goal they succeeded in getting past him for the rest of the game.
In the second period I got thrown in the penalty box after I hooked one of the dickheads that kept getting into Beck’s crease. As I stormed into the penalty box, I happened to look up, and what I saw blew me away.
Sydney sat up several rows and over from the penalty box. Our eyes locked, and my chest tightened. It didn’t look like she was with the people on either side of her, and I had to wonder what made her go to a hockey game alone.
We won the game, thanks to Heikkinen’s wraparound for a last-minute score. As we skated off the ice, I glanced