Truth was, I had no desire to slug Zane again, even if it would’ve made me look like the toughest S.O.B. on the planet. The whole ordeal at the bar should’ve been a one off because I’d had to defend my teammates.
“I know,” I said, “but wouldn’t you feel kind of ridiculous stepping outside like that because someone else commanded you?”
“Not if it was one of the Remington Riptides.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course I’m serious. You should’ve popped him one and made him sorry he ever challenged you.”
“We were in the middle of a candy store, for God’s sake.”
“I wouldn’t care if we were teaching Sunday school, bro. If Zane, or any of those assholes, wanted a piece of me, I would be more than happy to give it to them.”
Really, I’d found the whole thing too funny to not smile when I reflected on it. The whole thing blew up in Zane’s face. I slipped out the door and scrambled across the street where an Esso station stood on the corner. From there, I slid behind the building and watched Zane, wondering how long he would stand there with his thumb up his ass.
Turned out far better than I could’ve hoped because a Buffalo P.D. cruiser pulled up in front of him and an absolutely enormous cop stepped out. He didn’t dwarf Zane, but their height differential was more than apparent as he stood several inches taller. Like, the tip of Zane’s head came up to his eyebrows. No easy feat since Zane himself stood a good six-four.
The cop didn’t cuff Zane or take him away. Nothing that serious, unfortunately. He did appear to ask the Riptide for I.D., as Zane stuffed his hand into his pocket, produced his wallet, and passed a card to him. And I covered my mouth, laughing from a distance. Seriously, I could’ve laughed hard enough at that to be heard.
Seeing Zane get hassled like that provided enough satisfaction, so I strolled back to my car, grateful the whole thing had ended without another fist fight.
“So, you’re saying I really should’ve dropped the hammer on this guy, huh?”
“Why not? The opportunity doesn’t come up every day.”
“I know, but I’m really not that kind of guy normally.”
“That bar fight says different, Jakob. Jax Echlin is the weak link on that team, at least for scrapping.”
“No shit; he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag.”
“You’re telling me. Zane is probably the toughest and strongest of the group. If you hadn’t laid him out like you did, there’s no telling how things would’ve panned out for us.”
I arched my eyebrows, realizing I hadn’t thought of it that way. In fact, I would’ve wanted to forget everything entirely and shelve the incident in a back corner of my memory—if it hadn’t made such a cool story to tell. I punched Zane because he was there, plain and simple. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. I didn’t think of myself as a tough guy despite Ryan Detenbeck’s determination to build me up as one.
“What about Coach Hardison?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“You know what he said after the Colter Bay Grill brawl. We’ll get cut from the team if we get into any more trouble with the Riptides.”
“And I told you he can’t possibly cut the entire team, so that point’s moot.”
“But we’re not talking about the whole team. It was just me, so he wouldn’t have any trouble cutting just one player. I would’ve been up shit creek.”
Detenbeck glanced at me before lowering his mask and positioning himself before the net. Obviously, he wouldn’t listen to any more excuses. I skated up to the blue line and fired offsome pucks before advancing forward, swinging around the net, and sweeping the puck past the goalie.
“That was a lucky shot, you know that?” he said.
“I think the shot I got in on Zane Hirst was pretty lucky when you think about it.”
“Don’t say that, dude. You’ve got to tell yourself you’re a total badass. You keep telling yourself that, and you’ll believe it, especially since you now have the resume to back it up.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that one. Hockey player or not, I’d never thought of myself as a tough guy, badass, or one nasty motherfucker, but Detenbeck had a point: I possessed the resume to back it up.
Even better, I was proving I could score on Ryan Detenbeck anytime I wanted to, for I swung around that half of the rink, charged at the goalie, and slapped the puck into the net a second time.
With both arms raised triumphantly, I found Detenbeck on his knees, his head bowed slightly, as if in prayer. I stopped before the net. He stood up and lifted his mask again.
