Page 53 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

The first thing that Park did once they were back on the clock was score a goal so beautiful it was bound to be on a reel by the end of the night.

Conclave fans were screaming and jumping in the stands as their favourite player dazzled them with flashy stick handling and speed that would make any city proud.

They had to play more cautiously to keep their one-point lead, but he knew they wouldn’t win like this. Park was too good. He would eventually break past their defence and get another point. It was just a matter of time.

He got pushed to the bench, hardly able to breathe through all the sweaty hockey players as every Sunburst player fist bumped and smacked him on the back.

Maybe it was true.

Melvin was babbling into his mic, gushing about the goal as he made the connection to Harrison’s early hockey years. Fuck Park’s goal, Jett somehow outdid him without even meaning to .

“That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” Bracken pushed Jett to the bench and grabbed him by the neck, digging his knuckles into the side of his head. “That was fucking amazing, Jetty!”

Cote sat on his other side, grinning boyishly. “That was so cool, Jett. Fucking stellar.”

“Thanks,” said Jett. He grabbed his bottle and squeezed water on his head to cool off. He couldn’t help but glance at Park on the other bench and saw him watching something on a tablet. His goal, or Jett’s. Judging by his frown, it was Jett he was watching.

Jett couldn’t help but feel smug. Every frown he earned felt like a win after how badly Park had humiliated them last time they played.

He thought his goal would break the Conclaves, but as Jett prepared for his next shift, he realized it may have had the opposite effect. The guys looked super fired up and were still getting the puck to their net, taking plenty of shots on Powers.

Park also played like he had a fire lit under his ass, which earned him another goal on a rebound scuffle, much to all of their frustration.

The clock ticked down until only three minutes were left, and the Sunbursts were still ahead by one point. They had been playing a heavily defensive game since Park’s last goal, and everyone was exhausted and drenched with sweat.

Jett dropped into position for the face-off in the Sunburst zone after Cote got caught on an icing call. Across from him, Park slid into place with practiced ease, his expression annoyingly casual. A sly grin tugged at his lips, and his dark eyes glittered with mischief under the arena lights.

“Nice fucking goal, Fraser,” said Park. “Think Killinger will teach me too, if I ask nicely?”

“Shut up, Park,” the ref snapped, saving Jett from having to tell him off himself.

The puck dropped, and Park won it. Jett bolted for him, expecting the pink-haired man to start driving it to the net, but Park smirked and flicked it to Holt as the Ottawa captain raised his stick for a slap shot.

Powers couldn’t have seen the shot coming in a million years. There were too many bodies in front of him, most wearing Sunburst jerseys.

The puck hit the back of the net, and the horn blasted. The clock had barely been counting down for ten seconds .

Jett was so shocked he didn’t register what happened until he saw the Conclaves tackling their captain and hollering at the top of their lungs. The crowd went wild , but Jett could still hear Powers and Wolf cursing over the noise.

Park came back from his bench celebration and stuck his tongue out at Jett like a child, which prompted Bracken into lunging for the cocky forward, only to be stopped by Jett and Wolf.

“You should let him go,” Park sang across the ten feet of ice between them. “I promise I’ll go easy on him. He’s old, after all.”

“Fuck you!” Wolf and Jett shouted together.

Whistles started blowing for them to get in line for the next puck drop, but Bracken was seething with anger and red-faced.

Jett held his breath as Holt and Bracken bent for the puck at center ice.

“You know what they say about bright colours in the animal kingdom?” Bracken spat at the other captain. “It’s a warning to other creatures that they’re fucking poisonous. Ring any bells?”

The puck dropped—and so did the gloves. In a blur of motion, both captains locked onto each other, fists flying in a flurry of rage and adrenaline. The crowd exploded into chaos, the roar from the stands nearly drowning out the cursing and whistle blowing.

Powers came out of his crease, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders at the other goalie, who was already drifting out to accept the challenge. Jett was barely holding Wolf back with his much smaller frame, but it wouldn’t take much effort to get around him.

Bracken took Holt to the ice. The second he was off his skates, the refs split them up and pushed everyone back. No other fights had broken out, and the goalies were still posturing at one another, but the tension was high.

“That was like watching two geriatrics in a nursing home fighting over the last Viagra,” said Park, who had brazenly come to stand beside Jett on the ice.

Jett wanted to be mean because he was just as pissed as his teammates, but he fucking laughed.

“The fuck, Park?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Park asked.

They could barely hear each other over the cheering as the captains were sent to the locker room. What a fucking mess.

“We almost had you,” Jett said, more to himself than to Park.

“I know,” said Park. “It was great. I fucking loved this game.”

Jett gave a hint of a smile. He couldn’t look at Park because he knew he would punch him, so he kept his eyes on Harrison and nodded.

As frustrated as he was and as badly as he wanted to win, he agreed with Park. This game had been fun, and even though they would probably lose, he couldn’t wait to take on the Ottawa team again and fight for a better outcome.

“Park! Fraser! Center ice, now!”

The last 2 minutes and 30 seconds felt like an hour.

Bracken was out for the rest of the game and the Conclaves were pissed that their captain had gotten his ass handed to him.

There were more fights than there were shots at the net.

Wolf got a penalty after Jett had been tripped into the boards, retaliating against the guy by tripping him so hard his face hit the ice, and he lost two teeth.

Jett was fine, and because he was grateful for Wolf standing up for him, he put the game into overtime so they had a tiny chance at victory.

Any sliver of hope vanished when Park won the face-off and charged toward the Sunburst net, dazzling Powers with the slick footwork he was famous for. The moment an opening appeared, he took it—firing the puck in and scoring the game-winning goal.

Jett made sure no more fights broke out as he herded the rest of the team toward their gate. Powers was the worst of them. He was shouting at the opposing bench like a man possessed, so Jett had to drag him off the ice like an angry dog on a leash.

“Fuck!” Wolf snapped his twig against the wall and stomped off, snarling at the jeering Ottawa fans around him.

Jett was the last one off the ice, and he made sure to stop and sign a Sunburst jersey for a little girl before he followed the rest of his team. There was no reason for every Starburst fan to be miserable tonight.

Jett ignored the press guy waving at him for an interview and hit the locker room to change and shower. He expected to see solemn expressions on everyone’s faces, but he froze when greeted with smiles and cheers .

Ryan was already showered and half-dressed in his suit as he sauntered to Jett and swung an arm over his shoulders. “Jetty! Who should we pick for MVP tonight?”

The tension that Jett didn’t know he was holding onto suddenly released. Every guy in the room was bleeding, sweaty and angry, but above all else, they were proud .

“The answer is obvious,” said Jett, and the room fell silent. He grinned and met Jason’s eyes, heart aching at the sight of the wetness gathered in them. “Our goalie went from getting trampled by these pricks last time to getting us to overtime tonight.”

Guys in all states of undress grabbed the nearest object to them to make noise, joining in with Ryan and Jett’s stick-tapping.

“Where’s Fenwick?” Ryan shouted over the clamour. “Someone pass Fenwick to his new dad of the night!”

Fenwick was a blue stuffed dragon given to every Sunburst MVP for the last five years.

It was probably the dumbest team tradition in existence, but the guys fought over the toy every game they played.

There was no greater pride than getting that little backpack shaped like a dragon egg and opening it up to pull out a disgruntled Fenwick to snuggle.

Coach Adams wore his usual disgruntled expression as he approached Jason and held out the backpack. Jason took it with both hands, and the locker room erupted—their cheers echoing off the walls, teammates clapping him on the back and jostling him with proud grins.

Gone were the frustrated tears that had welled in Jason’s eyes earlier. Now, he hugged the backpack to his chest like it meant everything, soaking in the well-earned praise.

“An admirable effort,” said Coach Adams. “We’ll win the next game against the Conclaves, but for now, you have three hours until you have to be at the airport, and I will see you on the plane.”

“You heard Coach, boys!” Ryan said, grinning. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and get a quick drink.”