Power Plays & Straight A's - Eden Finley Page 0,31
have his way was my choice. “He’ll be too busy with the game to even remember my existence.”
“Yes, but he’s a hockey player, and you’re about to walk into an arena full of them. After last year, doesn’t that make you, I don’t know, nervous or something?”
“Why would it?”
“You were bullied by hockey players.”
“No, I was bullied by Morris. Are you saying I should be stereotyping all hockey players as bullies? Because your brother plays hockey, and he’s never been anything but nice to me.”
Seth shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to do with me. “Okay, let’s go.”
We go inside and take our seats, waiting for things to start. It’s apparent there are clear sides among the spectators, and Seth joins me on the CU side where I can blend in with the other jerseys.
“Mom and Dad are here somewhere,” Seth says.
“Pity we can’t see them.” Now that we’ve found our seats, I’m determined not to move again until the game is over.
The atmosphere is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and as it gets closer to the start time, the crowd gets louder. A fight breaks out a little down from us, and security escorts the delinquents out.
“Isn’t the fighting supposed to happen on the ice?” I muse, watching them go.
“Not with this game. The rivalry is next level. Just you wait.”
The lights go out and then commentary takes over, announcing the teams as they skate out.
They do a quick skate around the rink, each team sticking to their side of the ice, but it’s as if you can feel the animosity and anger between them.
We have to endure a pitchy rendition of the national anthem, and then it’s game on.
My gaze follows Foster as he skates to the middle of the ice.
I understand the game completely.
Right up until they start playing.
From there, I’m lost. Not only because it’s a game I know nothing about—except the puck, I’ve got that terminology down pat—but because of Foster. He skates like he owns the ice, and I can’t look away. Because … chemicals. Buzzy, twitchy, consuming chemicals that make everything but him disappear.
Players are constantly switching out, and it makes my brain hurt. One minute Foster’s on the ice, and the next he’s not.
It’s a scoreless game and quite boring if I’m honest. The only time I get remotely interested is when Foster’s out there.
I can hardly be blamed for it either with the way he skates. He’s everywhere on the ice. Fast, strong, and—
Slam!
Foster shoves someone into the, umm, boards so hard it makes me jump. This wasn’t a warning knock like at training. This was … I’m not sure.
After that, it’s like a switch flips and they’re all out for blood. Welcome to the Hunger Games. Foster’s not the only one working out some aggression. I can hardly believe most of these moves are legal. Surely, it’s only a matter of time before someone is badly injured. My attention has been successfully pulled from Foster until a few minutes later when he slams his hockey stick into someone’s legs.
“What is he …” Seth laughs. “Oh no.”
“Oh no, what?”
The UVM player gets to his feet, shouting something I can’t hear. His helmet comes off, and Foster’s joins the ice a second later. Foster’s hair is plastered to his face with sweat, and he’s never looked so … angry.
Then I realize who he’s yelling at. “Is that Morris?”
“I might have fucked up,” Seth says as one of Foster’s teammates grabs his chest to hold him back.
“You? What’s he doing out there? Please tell me this isn’t typical?” My pulse has kicked up a notch, probably from adrenaline as more players start to get involved in the scuffle.
“Not completely typical,” Seth says. “I might have told him about Morris. And you. And clearly that was a dumb thing to do right before this game.”
“What do you—”
Foster’s gloves come off and he lunges at Morris, tackling him to the ice. The crowd explodes. I can’t see much around the pads except swinging arms and then the teams converge, and they’re swallowed from sight.
Somehow the team breaks it up, but now there’s men yelling and Foster’s laughing in a way that is not at all humorous. I’m right on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out what in the damn hell is happening.
“Fucking dumb shit.” Seth kicks the seat in front of us.
Foster is bleeding.
“What is happening?” I ask weakly, as Morris staggers back up onto his skates.