Page 178

“Could be up by more,” I say, shrugging.

With a sigh, Pace leans across the bench to whisper, “He’s not gonna beat your ass. He’s a finesse player, bro. He’d never risk his hands.”

I give my brother an innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But I really crank it up in the second period, because the thing about Forsyth is that it’s sometimes a really small place.

“Here’s a name I remember,” I say to Verne when we face-off again, two minutes into the period. “Miranda.”

There it is.

Verne’s eyes jump up to mine, his mouth tightening. “Bullshit.”

I jerk my head up to where she’s sitting in the stands. “At the Christmas party last year. Your little sister?” I tisk, head shaking. “That bitch is ascreamer. She still has my tie, you know. I had to gag her.”

The puck drops and I smoothly pluck it up, zipping away as Verne curses.

Every face-off after that, I push it just a little more. “Little sister is flexible, too,” I say, watching Verne’s jaw tighten. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about fucking me, to be honest. You seem so close. She gives headjustlike you do. Is that a family thing? Should I look your mom up?”

Verne Weller loses three face-offs, and when he’s swapped for one of their shitty right wingers for a small violation–his skates crossed over the hash–I can see the rage building in his eyes. It’s not about me banging his sister. Not totally.

No, Verne could be from West End with how much he values winning, and right now, his team is down bad.

I almost get a little worried when the clock winds down to second intermission. Rattling a guy like Weller could take a lot of time, and as sweat beads down my temples, the panic begins setting in. It’s only a few short hours until the Mayfield event.

Luckily, as I’m skating off the ice, I see Weller pull #99 aside, his gaze cutting daggers into me.

“Really wanna be pissed at you, since I know what you’re doing,” Pace says in the locker room, spitting out his mouthguard. “But we’re fucking murdering them out there. These passes you’re making on face-off? Christ, you should try to get your ass beat more often.” His grin is sharp and vicious as Coach Reed claps his hands for our attention.

I don’t hear what he says.

I’m too busy preparing myself for the last period, and it’s got nothing to do with plays or Decker’s bloodthirst on defense. Pace isn’t pissed at me because he was right before. Weller isn’t going to fight me, and even if he did, he wouldn’t win. That’s not where he excels.

But unlike Pace, after a night of scrolling socials, I just happen to know that Miranda Weller is dating Northridge Tech’s biggest, most aggressive defenseman.

#99.

It’s a relief to see him on the ice when Verne and I square up for the face-off. “I tried to be cool,” Verne says, mouth pressed into a tense line.

Mostly just because Verne is a good player and gives fantastic head, I assure him, “Ah, don’t sweat it, bro. I know what’s coming to me.”

He looks confused when his gaze flicks up, meeting mine, but then the ref drops the puck and we’re off–until #99 suddenly drops his gloves and barrels toward me.

The crowd gives an ear-shattering roar, which is the last thing I hear before two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle and spite slams into me. I get a flash of the guy’s face pulled back into an ugly sneer, and then his fist cracks into my jaw.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that.

Generally, I’m pretty good at getting my ass beat because I know how to avoid that happening. I’ve never been the biggest guy in the room. The brawniest. The most aggressive. A childhood of boarding school with a bunch of angry boys taught me that very quickly. A little smooth talk, some ego stroking, if necessary, and quick evasive maneuvers have always served me better than brute force.

Right now, I just take it.

Sure, I fight back a little, just to keep that fire in 99’s eyes, but mostly I get smoked. A fist to my temple, a knee to my gut, an elbow to my nose. Nothing really spectacular, though.

Not until he knocks me down.

Around us, I can hear other skaters, Pace’s voice among them, trying to lift the guy off me, but he doesn’t budge, his knuckles slamming into me over and over, mashing my head between his fists and the ice like a goddamn mallet.

In the end, the whole thing is pretty easy.