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Jonas

“ D oes this mean you’re next?” Nakey snorted as we watched Verity put Dean’s jersey on from the bench.

“I’ll leave the jersey dramatics to them,” I laughed as the lineman dragged Grif to the penalty box and Dean pranced around the net with his stick.

The game restarted. Since we were short Grif, the Royals went into a power play.

Carlos teased and taunted the Royals, literally skating circles around them. Stealing the puck, he barreled toward their goal, the Royals on his heels. Right as they were about to steal the puck, he skated backward, taking the puck with him and flinging it to Clark. Clark raced it behind the net and slapped it in for a goal, the goalie a split-second too late to stop it.

The crowd cheered as Clark’s goal song played, which might be from a Defender League movie. Coach changed the lines. Grif drummed on the glass in the penalty box and did a victory dance for Clark.

As did my omega.

“That is what I like to see,” Coach praised as Clark and Carlos came in.

Finally, they let Grif out of the box, and he came back to the bench. Pauley climbed over the boards and joined everyone on the ice.

Plopping down on the bench next to me, Grif leaned his head on my shoulder. “Yeah, I ate too much cake.”

I had no idea what that had to do with anything, so I just put an arm around him. His rain scent seemed a bit off, but it could be sweat.

Coach sent Elias and me back in. I popped in my mouth guard, grabbed my stick, and skated out toward the net.

The Royals came for us, hungry for a goal now that we were on the scoreboard.

I came around the other side, trying to both cut the forward from the Royals off from trying to sneak in a shot around the corner and not give her anyone to pass to. Elias chased her around the net. Clark stole the puck and got it down the ice.

A forward nabbed the puck and made a run for our goal, only for Carlos to take it away from her. I stood firm at the top of the crease, ready to block anyone and everyone who approached.

Grif chased after her, but faltered, trying to get it away from her, as another forward thumped him. He slammed his elbow into him, knocking him away. Clark stole the puck from her, tripping up someone as he passed it to Carlos, who skated toward the goal.

Dean gasped.

“What’s wrong, Love?” I turned to him, dread coursing through my bond with him.

“Babes, something’s wrong.” Panic surged through his voice. “Something’s wrong with Grif. GRIF!” It was half-shout, half-wail.

I turned to see Grif’s stick fall from his hand in a clatter as he slumped to the ice.