Page 27

Greyson

I’m dying.

I usually wouldn’t play all three periods on my own, a sophomore would take over for the second period while I rested for the final. But u nfortunately, he broke his leg over the summer break, and Coach decided to sit him out the rest of the semester. So, ultimately, I was left to do all three periods by myself because although we got five new freshmen this year, none of them were goalies.

It seems that goalies are slowly going out of fashion, and most players are gravitating toward the other positions. I understand that my position is more difficult and demanding than the others, and I don’t want to be biased…but it’s more fun.

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, there’s only five minutes until we have to be back on the ice. Groaning, I pull my phone from the side pocket of my bag and smile once I see the multiple messages from Lilly.

Lil-Bug: Hope you win your game!

Lil-Bug: Is there any way to watch it?

Lil-Bug: I ate all the popcorn in the house and now I’m sad.

Lil-Bug: Managed to find a stream online! That save was fucking sick!! How does your body move like that?????

Lil-Bug: Update—Payton got me some popcorn when she went to the store??

There’s a dozen more messages, and my lips tilt up in a smile as I continue reading them. I’m about to respond until Coach shouts for us to get our gear back on.

Quickly typing a message out to her that I’m about to head back on the ice and I’ll respond after the game, I throw my phone back into the side pocket of my bag before grabbing my gloves and helmet from beside me.

“Alright, listen up!” He shouts, gaining everyone’s attention. “These last twenty minutes will make or break us—we’re up by four points, let’s try keep it that way.”

“Got it.” We say.

“Fox, Kingston, and Hernandez—you guys have been solid all evening, but I need you to be better. Push. Push fucking hard. Show those Cats that us Dragons are here for the win.”

“Hey, what about me?” Theo whines.

“You got sent to the penalty box within the first two minutes of being on the ice.” Coach stares at h im.

“Not my fault that number twelve is a grade A jerk.” Theo snorts.

“Jenkins!” Coach scolds him.

“What? I’m just stating facts…back me up here boys, he was a jerk, wasn’t he?” Turning his attention toward everyone, we remain silent. “Oh come on! He literally shoved me away because he said number seven was an unlucky number and he didn’t want me to be in eyesight to him.”

Snorting, I lick my lips and look back at Coach who’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Next time tell him to grow some balls, not start a fight with him.” Coach shakes his head.

Theo grumbles something incoherent under his breath but nods.

“Right, now go out there and show those Cat’s that we take no prisoners,” he shouts. “Dragons on three…”

“One.”

“Two.”

“ DRAGONS !”

***

I thought the ache from practice a couple days ago would’ve gone by now, or at the very least, died down. But if anything, the ache grew worse as the game continued.

Every muscle in my body was contracting when I moved, and I wanted nothing more than for this game to be over with so I could take a nice long fucking bath to hopefully ease the pain my muscles are experiencing .

Glancing toward the countdown, the big red flashing numbers indicate there’s only fifty-three seconds left on the clock until the game is over. And it couldn’t come soon enough.

Adjusting my stance, my eyes glance across the ice as I see Hunter with the puck, weaving in and out of the opposing players. Straightening up, I hold my breath as he gains on their goal…but as he winds up to take the shot, the puck is stolen from right underneath him.

Groaning, my eyes follow the puck as number forty charges toward me. Honestly, what’s the point? Even if I let this goal in, it was pointless. The Riverside Dragons have already won, and by a long shot.

But from the concentration on his face, he was determined to get that puck into my net.

Not happening, buddy.

My eyes don’t leave the puck as he gains on me. Winding up his stick, he swings, and the puck comes flying toward the bottom right of the net. Throwing myself to the ground, my muscles cry out in pain as I spread my legs open like a butterfly.

The puck bounces off my pad, and the force of it reverberates across my whole body.

Then the buzzer goes.

Game over, we won.

But obviously, number forty didn’t like the result because the next thing I know, he’s throwing his gloves and helmet on the ice and charging toward me with a face full of thunder.

I don’t have enough time to react before he’s throwing a punch at my face. Taken back, my head knocks to the side.

In all the years I’ve been playing hockey, not once have I gotten into a fight. There’s been a few arguments here and there, but I've never laid my hands on another person. Coach always praised me for remaining calm while others wanted to fight. But truthfully, this feels different than any other time.

There’s something about number forty that makes the anger in me erupt, and I have no idea why. I’m not an angry person, I have never been. So, I don’t know why looking at him is making my blood boil.

Regaining my balance, I square my shoulders and stare at him. “What the fuck, dude?”

“You couldn’t just let the goal in?” He hisses.

I snort. “Seriously? Even if I did, you still wouldn’t have won.”

“You think you’re so great, huh? You and your whole team?” Throwing another punch toward me, I dodge it. “You were lucky, all of you.”

Peeling my gloves and helmet off, I hold them in my arms and smirk at him. “Or maybe our team is better than yours, ever thought about that?”

Okay, I might be edging him on…but it's funny to watch someone get riled up over something they have no control over in the first place.

“You fucking—” His eyes glaze with anger as he lunges toward me again, but I dodge his punch, again .

He’s determined to get a hit though because he keeps swinging. Honestly, what's the point in fighting? Where's that going to get you?

And que the hypocrite comments because I do something that I've never done in the thirteen years I've been playing…I punch him back.

His head swings to the side, and blood splutters out his nose. Fuck, I didn’t hit him that hard…did I ? Regaining his balance, he turns toward me snarling. He’s about to aim another punch, but two of his teammates hold him back.

“Holy fuck, Montgomery,” I hear Chase gasp from beside me. “Didn’t know you had that much swing to your fists.”

Yeah, me either.

Number forty squirms in his teammate’s arms, trying to get loose. “Stop,” his teammate shouts. “We lost, Xavier. End of story.”

“Let me go.”

“You’ve only just come back,” another teammate of his hisses. “You don’t want Coach to bench you for the rest of the semester, do you? Because you know he fucking will.”

Mumbling something incoherent under his breath, Xavier, as his teammate called him, gives me one last final glare before storming off the ice.

My own anger starts to dimmer down slightly as I glance beside me at my teammates who are all standing there.

“Coach is gonna scold your ass.” Theo snorts.

“Shut up, Theo,” Hunter laughs. “You know if anything, Coach will applaud him for finally getting into a fight.”

“Hell no, he’ll frame a picture and put it in the locker room with today’s date and ‘Greyson finally got into a fight’ written below it.” Evan laughs.

Groaning, I grab my gloves and helmet from the floor that I didn’t even realize I’d thrown there and give them all a glare. “You’re all fucking annoying.” I grumble as I skate away.