Page 51 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

“Really? You guys are sending your rookie after me?” Park called out with a smirk, his voice carrying over the hum of the crowd. “Way to break the kid in hard.”

“Let’s keep it a clean game, fellas,” said the ref. “Especially you, Park.”

“If I wanted to keep clean on the ice, ref, I would have stayed a figure skater.”

Cote launched into action beside him, and together they rocketed across the ice, blades slicing clean through the surface as they surged toward Ottawa’s net. The Conclave defence scrambled to react, but they couldn’t keep up with the speed and seamless coordination of the rush.

Park was close behind, his smooth stride keeping pace with Jett as they closed in. The crowd’s roar swelled, but Jett blocked it out, keeping his eyes locked on the net.

A Conclave defenseman lunged at the last second, aiming a desperate jab toward Jett’s skates. He felt the tug but didn’t stumble. He shifted his weight and spun, his body rotating sharply, putting him in the perfect position .

It was so convincing that Jett would have bought it himself. Obviously, Park did too, since he was already blocking a shot that never came.

Cote’s shot cut through the gap, and the puck sailed past the goalie and slammed into the back of the Conclave net.

The lights lit up with a Sunburst goal, not twenty seconds into the first period.

Jett hollered and bolted to Cote’s side, throwing himself at the kid and nearly taking him to the ice. The rest of the team was on them a second later, clapping their rookie on the back and ruffling his head so hard that his helmet fell off.

“Way to set the fucking pace!” Wolf yelled over the booing crowd. “You see Park?”

Jett followed the others to the bench for celebratory fist bumps, sneaking a glance at the scowling pink-haired man taking a drink at the Ottawa bench.

Oh yeah, he was pissed.

Jett returned to the bench to sit, hydrate, and wipe down, purposely placing himself in front of Harrison at the closest seat to the end, in full sniping range of the Conclave bench. Two panels of glass separated the team benches, creating a space where the game announcer sat in the middle.

Melvin Deveau, whom Jett was familiar with at these Ottawa games, looked pointedly at Jett on his left, and then to Park on the bench closest to his right.

“Play nice,” Harrison reminded him.

Not that he needed to. Jett wasn’t like Ryan or Wolf, who were always looking for a fight.

“That was ballsy,” Park shouted over the cheers. He was standing up so Jett could see him over Rick’s head, shouting to be heard through the glass. “You were gunning so hard for the net, I thought for sure you were taking the shot.”

The puck dropped again, forcing them to pause before they could continue. Jett didn’t take his eyes off the ice. His gaze followed Cormier as they set up the next play, only to have the puck stolen by the Ottawa captain, Damien Holt .

“Funny,” said Jett. “It’s almost like we planned it.”

“Fucking smartass,” said Park. “You’re such a twat, Fraser.”

“Things are heating up on the benches,” Melvin said into his mic. “There’s a lot of chirping between the two alternate captains right now.”

Jett blocked Melvin out as he started listing their stats and talking about the game.

Sometimes it was hard to believe someone as pretty as Su-jin Park could have such a foul mouth and an even fouler temper.

Jett couldn’t help but sneak looks at him, taking in those sharp, dark eyes and flawless pale skin.

The powder-pink hair should have looked ridiculous, but it suited him.

Park looked like he’d stepped straight out of a K-pop music video—he was that beautiful.

If Park were a little taller, he could have made it big as a model, but he was smaller than Jett and had double the attitude of Wolf. He didn’t have enough patience to deal with people and cameras.

Park didn’t have enough patience to deal with hockey players either, but that’s why he was always fighting.

“Are you fucking deaf , Fraser?”

“Ask your mom,” Jett shot back. “I had her screaming so loud last night that my ears are still ringing.”

Park made a disgusted face, holding his tongue out like he had swallowed something bitter. “Ah, fuck. You’re fucking nasty.”

Jett smirked. “You asked, buddy.”

Harrison tapped him on the shoulder, and Jett stood, hoisting himself over the boards. His skates hit the ice, and he launched into his shift at full speed. Hellstrom sent the puck his way, and Jett caught it cleanly, nearly breaking free—until Park closed the distance.

They collided in the corner, fighting for control. Park snarled and slammed a shoulder into Jett’s chest, knocking him off balance just enough to flick the puck to a waiting teammate beyond the scrum.

Now it was Jett’s turn to give chase. He tore after Park, flying across the rink at breakneck speed.

Up ahead, he saw Wolf shifting into position, and Jett knew that look—he was about to take a penalty they couldn’t afford.

“Wolf! ”

Park side-stepped the trip, jumping over Wolf’s stick and landing on the ice without breaking his stride. He would score, and Jett didn’t know if there was a way to stop him.

In a last-ditch effort, Jett shoved the blade of his stick between Park’s legs, barely tapping the puck, but it worked. Park took the shot but missed, forcing him to desperately dump it into the Sunburst’s zone, flashing a glare in Jett’s direction.

Jett had too much momentum to make an easy stop, but he was in the perfect place to shove Park into the boards to slow himself down.

“Jugeullae?!”

Jett had already redirected himself and was skating away, too focused on the puck to guess what Park had just cursed at him. He tried to steal the next pass between Conclave players and missed, and Park swooped in, ready to make him regret his mistake.

Park spun around so fucking fast that Jett could do nothing to stop the puck from rocketing through the air over Powers’s shoulder. The lights flashed, and the horn sounded, tying the game five minutes in.

Jett sulked as he returned to the bench, not listening to Wolf’s cursing behind him. He plopped down and grabbed his water bottle, taking a furious gulp that burned his throat like acid.

“Wow,” said Harrison. “He’s…”

Jett slammed his bottle down and glowered at his skates. “Yeah, he’s fucking something.”

“Your goalie is gorgeous,” Park’s voice said from the other side of the dividing glass. “I think the feeling is mutual. He always lets me into his net.”

Melvin stumbled over his next words with a laugh.

Jett had no idea Bracken was sitting beside him until his captain threw himself across his lap to get closer to Park.

“Keep talking shit, Park! Touch my goalie and I’ll rearrange that pretty face of yours!”

Darkness entered Park’s expression, and Jett was struck by the thought of the pink-haired man breaking through the glass to throttle them. Melvin must have seen it too because he ducked his head, his tone shifting to nervousness as he spoke.

“ Enough .” Harrison shoved Bracken back into his spot. “You want to fight? Then do it on the goddamn ice.”

Park hadn’t said anything, which was dangerous . His scoff was loud enough to be heard over the crowd, but he turned away and kept his eyes on the game.

Jett swallowed, suddenly finding his throat dry as sandpaper. The bubble of confidence he felt after the first goal was ready to pop and evaporate.

The second his blades touched the ice for his next shift, Park was on them.

Bracken had the puck after a solid pass from Cote, and was heading for the blue line when Park met them.

He knocked the puck off Bracken’s blade and turned to chase it, but his stick came up with the turn, smashing Bracken in the face.

Bracken was nearly knocked off his feet, but he recovered quickly and was already chasing Park when Jett slammed him into the boards. It wasn’t the cleanest hit, but Jett would not tolerate someone harming a guy on his team, especially not his fucking captain.

He was instantly swarmed by Conclave players, followed by every Sunburst player on the ice.

He was pulled away from Park, and his leg was kicked out from under him, forcing him onto the ice.

The impact fucking hurt , but Jett ignored the pain in his shoulder in favour of covering his face with his gloves for protection.

The skirmish lasted less than a minute before Wolf picked him up by the back of his jersey and helped him up. His ears were ringing from the shrill calls of the whistle and the booing of the crowd, but he grinned at the Conclave fans behind the glass before spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Fuck, he must have bit his tongue.

Park was sent off the ice for a high-stick penalty, and Jett narrowly avoided a roughing penalty of his own. They had the power play, and judging by the sour looks on his teammates’ faces, they were about to get another goal.

“You guys are fucking wimps!” Park called out before he went into the box and slammed the door behind himself, ignoring the startled look from the attendant there .

The next goal was so easy Jett couldn’t help but flash a grin in Park’s direction as he was let out of the sin bin. He expected to see fury in those dark eyes, but Park grinned manically at him.

“Holy fuck, Fraser. You keep playing like this, and I might start to respect you.”

“You’re such a prick, Park. Shut the fuck up.”

Jett went to the bench to cool off, but he couldn’t relax with Park on the ice against their second line. He thought for sure the bastard would tie the points, but thanks to two huge saves from Powers, the score stayed the same.

They finished the first period with the lead, returning to the locker room covered in sweat and blood.

Jett endured pokes from the medical team, but nothing could be done about a tongue injury. Ryan fared much worse. He had a nasty bruise on his cheek that was more purple every time Jett looked at it.