huddle. “Feeney, do your job this period, and the rest of you stay the fuck out of it.”
Heads bobbed, grunts were added. Henrik followed along, agreed and nodded without flinching. There was nothing Coach could say that would change his intent, and no point speaking up either. Unplanned shit happened all the time.
If he wanted more, he had to be willing to give more. Not financially, but of himself.
“Play smart,” Henrik said to Rylie, knocking gloves as they skated out to center ice.
“We got your back,” Hauke added as he passed, nudging Rylie on the shoulder.
Henrik took up his defensive spot in their zone. He eyed the gold-and-black jersey on the other side of the circle. Erikson boldly grinned back at him. The cocky bastard should be smart enough to know what was coming—everyone else seemed to.
Boston was in the Eastern conference, so they only played them twice a year. This wasn’t about creating a rivalry with them and if the guy’s new teammates were smart, they’d let the next few minutes happen.
The puck dropped and play started with a frantic scramble for possession. Hauke came up with it, knocked the puck back to him, which he flicked to Rylie. The play moved through the neutral zone into Boston territory, Conners taking it deep for a quick shot that was deflected wide.
Henrik tracked it all while eyeing number fifty-seven, who was ten feet in front of him. The man was hanging out near the blue line, back to Henrik as he watched the play. If the prick had been on Rylie, Henrik wouldn’t have hesitated to take action immediately. As it was, Henrik pushed forward to land a hard shove into Erikson and let his glare speak louder than any trash talk.
The puck shot up the ice, clearing the blue line. They chased it down, Rylie hooking it behind the net to circle up the boards at Henrik. He snagged it in with his stick, prepared for the hit that landed on his side and propelled him into the boards.
The shock of the hit was gone in an instant. He battled with Erikson, sticks knocking and elbows flying before he secured the puck. He flicked it wide and followed it with a cuff to Erikson’s face.
“Let’s go, asshole,” he growled, ramming him again.
“Fucker,” Erikson said, jerking back.
Henrik tossed his gloves and stick in one move and landed a punch to Erikson’s cheek in the next. It jarred through to his shoulder and rocked his balance, but damn it felt good. He fisted Erikson’s jersey with his other hand and landed another hit near the man’s jaw. Erikson couldn’t run, not with the hold Henrik had on him.
Hits landed on him somewhere near his neck. Any pain was drowned under the adrenaline rushing through him. He didn’t hear or see anything except the guy in front of him. The silence that overtook him was beautiful. Everything was clocked off in his head in a slow, analytical fashion that fired off quick responses.
He spread his stance, skates gliding with the momentum of their hits, and shifted his weight to counter the movement. He jerked at the stiff-armed hold Erikson had on his jersey and swung hard. Harder still with the next one. He had the height and weight advantage and he meant to use all of it.
Erikson got him on the chin, which only upped his determination. His reach was longer, and he had motivation on his side. This was for Rylie. This was for his team.
This was for himself.
For every time he’d doubted his teammates. For all the comments lobbed at him. For their blind support that came in so many different ways.
He continued to swing, aimed punch after punch while taking ones from Erikson. Sweat dripped in his eye, blood gushed from Erikson’s nose and Henrik hit him again. He logged the flying blood, the burn in his shoulder, the sting in his eye and kept on going, high on the fulfillment. Revenge administered. Erikson handled.
This family avenged.
Someone grabbed him from the side, weight yanking him back, yet he didn’t loosen his hold on Erikson’s jersey. A whistle penetrated the quiet first, a growled curse next.
“Break it up.”
More force was added to tug him from Erikson, and the fog that surrounded Henrik snapped away. The roar of the crowd slammed in to deafen the silence and broke the nirvana that’d engulfed him. Everything shot back into focus in a heartbeat.
The officials attempting to break up the fight. Other players standing