Page 32 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

Logan hadn’t done anything outright to antagonize Mickey but as they skated back out to the bench after the second goal for Minnesota, Rafe couldn’t help but feel like Logan was definitely getting under his skin.

The cool, calm Mickey Krause who Rafe was used to was nowhere to be found and in his place was a guy who seemed on edge.

It was the exact opposite of what Rafe had expected.

A part of him liked it. It was sort of … thrilling to see Mickey snarl at Logan and bark something at him in German that didn’t exactly sound like a love note. Because he was pretty damn sure whatever Mickey said aloud, he was jealous.

Or at least pissed at Logan because of the way he’d treated Rafe in the past.

And it was sort of … unexpectedly sweet seeing Mickey get all protective of him.

But Rafe was a little worried Mickey was going to get himself in trouble.

The crowd and the music had been too loud for him to hear most of what Coach Rasmussen had said to Mickey earlier, but he was pretty sure whatever Mickey had been doing in the past few shifts was the opposite of what Coach wanted.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

“Dude, what are you doing ?” Rafe asked as they skated back to the bench.

Mickey had never been an agitator or a pest like Tanner was. Mickey didn’t slyly go after guys, whacking their shins or knees with the blade of his stick or getting the end of it up in their armpits to throw them off their game.

But he had tonight. And only against Logan.

“Nothing,” Mickey said, but he didn’t look him in the eye.

He glanced away from Coach Rasmussen’s glare too and Rafe sighed. Yeah, he definitely needed to talk to Mickey during the next intermission.

Except, Mickey avoided him when they were back in the locker room. Which was actually pretty impressive since they were stall mates.

But every time Rafe tried to corner him, he suddenly was out of stick tape or had an urgent question for Tanner or … or …

“Dude, your boy is tightly wound tonight,” Crawford said with a snort a few minutes into the third period, as they sat on the bench watching Connor tear up the ice with the puck, Mickey and Logan jostling shoulders as they raced after him.

Rafe should have been on the ice with him and Mickey, but his skate blade had come loose and Rusty, the equipment guy, was fixing it.

Frustrated, Rafe chomped on his mouthguard while he leaned on the boards, foot up on the bench while Rusty swapped out his blade.

A ref blew his whistle because Connor had iced the puck and as Mickey skated past Logan in the offensive zone, he clipped Logan’s shoulder with his own. Logan shoved at him and the linesman skated over, sliding between them, his hand planted on Logan’s chest as he said something to both of them.

Rafe shook his head, but he wasn’t sure if it was to what was going on with Mickey and Logan or to what Crawford had said a minute ago.

“He’s not mine ,” Rafe protested, feeling a weird hollow thump in his chest as he thought about the words Mickey had said earlier. What the fuck were they even doing anymore?

Crawford shrugged. “Well, he acts like he wants to be. This is why I’m a big believer in you don’t shit where you eat, but you do you, man.”

Rafe made a face because that was such a gross mental image. Seriously, eww . But he got where Crawford was going with this.

“Yeah, well, after the mess with Logan, I promised myself I was never going to date a teammate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Mmm,” Crawford said, sounding skeptical. “Then you kinda suck at keeping your promises.”

Rafe laughed and then wanted to die a little bit because it was pretty bad if even Crawford had noticed his and Mickey’s feelings for each other and was trying to be like, supportive or something.

In his own crass way.

Rusty patted him on the shoulder, letting go of his skate. “You’re all good, man.”

“Thanks.” Rafe gave him a grateful smile and shifted to sit on the bench.

They’d reset the play in Boston’s defensive zone. Logan immediately got kicked out of the faceoff and Rafe watched intently as Sammy Ochoa took his place.

Connor won the faceoff, but Minnesota got possession a few moments later.

Mickey captured the puck, and the play swept behind Jesse’s net, Logan coming in hot too.

They skated side by side for a split second, jostling each other’s shoulders again and Rafe watched in disbelief as Logan hooked his ankle around Mickey’s and leaned into his upper body, sending him to the ground.

Logan crashed down too, their bodies tangled together.

The jolt threw Mickey back into the boards and horrified, Rafe watched his head bounce off them.

“Fuck!” he swore, rising to his feet.

A linesman blew his whistle to stop the play, kneeling down to check on Mickey who hadn’t moved yet. Maybe because Logan was still sprawled on top of him.

Hopefully . Rafe squeezed his hands into fists as tight as he could manage in gloves as Logan lay there for a second too before he rolled off Mickey and onto his back on the ice.

Mickey still wasn’t moving.

Rafe was over the boards before he knew it, too fast for his teammates to stop him, though he could hear Connor hollering at him and Coach Rasmussen bellowing something too.

Rafe skated across the ice and knelt down to check on Mickey. His eyes were open, thankfully, but he wasn’t focused on anything.

“Mickey!” Rafe said urgently. “Are you okay?”

Groaning, Mickey sat up, blinking and looking around. His gaze landed on Rafe and he frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Shit, Logan rang his bell,” someone muttered behind them and Rafe rose to his feet, turning on his former teammate.

“Shut the fuck up, you asshole,” he shouted, shoving at Sammy’s chest because he couldn’t get to Logan, who had a ref kneeling next to him.

“What did I fuckin’ do?” Sammy asked.

A moment later Logan was on his feet too, arguing with a ref. “How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t fucking do it on purpose”

“You’ve been antagonizing Krause all night,” the ref scoffed, reaching for his elbow. “That was a clear slew foot. In the box.”

“I didn’t?—”

“I said, get in the box!” the ref said, louder this time.

He grabbed Logan’s upper arms and gave him a little shove toward the penalty box. Rafe glared at his ex as he skated by, and Logan looked at him helplessly.

“Rafe, I didn’t …”

Rafe clenched his jaw, ignoring Logan’s words and turning back to Mickey, relieved Logan was getting a penalty for his bullshit.

He knelt beside Mickey, frowning. “Seriously, are you okay?” Rafe asked.

“I’m fine ,” Mickey protested, getting to his feet.

A big cheer rose from the crowd and Rafe felt relieved too. If a hit was bad enough the opposing teams were worried about a player, it was bad .

Rafe was glad to see Mickey could skate on his own and he wasn’t wobbly or anything, but he was even gladder when Mickey was off the ice.

As Rafe followed, he could hear the ref announcing Logan’s slew foot penalty. There were a few boos from the crowd now. They didn’t want a guy hurt too seriously, but they didn’t want to see their team go to the box either.

Guys on the Harriers bench murmured they were glad to see Mickey was okay and held out gloves to bump. But Coach Rasmussen pushed through them and pulled Rafe and Mickey aside at the end of the bench in front of the tunnel.

He pointed at Mickey. “ You , go with the trainers.”

“I’m fine!” Mickey protested. “I had the wind knocked out of me for a moment, but I didn’t lose consciousness.”

“Your head went off the boards,” Coach Rasmussen said flatly. “Concussion spotters flagged it. You’re getting checked out.”

Mickey grumbled his way down the tunnel.

Rafe turned to see Coach Rasmussen glaring at him. “We are going to have a talk later.”

Rafe grimaced because yeah, he was probably in trouble for bolting out onto the ice and oh shit, that time was apparently now because he could see a linesman gesturing for him to get back on the ice and the ref announcing his own penalty for there being too many men on the ice.

Rafe scowled on his way to the box and stared resolutely ahead, ignoring Logan in the other one as he tried not to worry about Mickey.

For a few minutes, it had been a nice feeling to have two guys fighting over him. But Mickey getting hurt? That wasn’t what he wanted at all.

After the penalty was up, Rafe did his best to focus on the game, but he wasn’t mad when Crawford laid Logan out. It was a clean hit but was a hard one and Logan looked a little stiff immediately after as he skated away.

Good . Maybe that would teach him a lesson.

After Crawford returned to the bench, Rafe reached over and bumped fists with him. “Thanks, man,” he said gratefully. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to go after Logan himself, but he wasn’t mad Crawford had done it.

“That slew foot was a shitty play,” Crawford said. “He needed to know we won’t tolerate it.”

Tanner, who sat on his other side, snorted. “You fucking slew footed a guy last fall.”

Crawford shrugged. “It’s different when I do it.”

He winked and shot Rafe a grin, showing off his missing tooth, and Rafe laughed, despite his worry over Mickey. Crawford was kinda growing on him or something.

The game wound down quickly. The Harriers managed another goal in the final minute of the game, thanks to Tom Bass, but they still lost 4-2.

Rafe tromped off the ice after, feeling too deflated and worried about Mickey to do more than congratulate the new guy for a great goal.

Tom thanked Rafe, shooting him a smile. He seemed nice enough and Rafe felt like he should get to know him better. But right now, all he could do was think about Mickey.

He hadn’t come back from getting his head checked out.

It was normal, really, because concussion protocol took a while. Rafe had been through it a couple of times and was no stranger to concussions himself.

But this was Mickey . So Rafe’s stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots.