With a slapshot to Gauthier and a quick pass to Mironov, the puck was still in our possession.
But the second line’s defence was all over us. They knew our plays like the backs of their hands, and they intercepted Mironov’s pass to Hewitt.
I watched, impressed, as their forwards opened the line for their defence and screamed up the ice in a breakaway. Stick to puck, they flew along, Minns and Mironov on their heels.
I charged into our defensive zone, ready for the play. We’d practiced the drill a million times. Minns forced the pass, Mironov slapped it to one of us, and the forward line would take the puck back up the ice over the blue line and into our attack zone.
It happened exactly like we’d practiced. But the second line were smart. They intercepted the puck.
Mironov was there, his stick in the perfect position to scoop up the puck and send it flying our way. Hewitt was the closest, but Gauthier was better positioned.
He caught the puck mid-flight on his tape. I opened my stance, elbow up, and skated hard, using all my power to get to where Gauthier needed me. He shot, and the blade of his stick connected with the puck in the perfect wrister, and it sailed through the air to me before landing right at my feet.
With Mironov protecting my rear, I skated like a man on a mission, covering those last few feet in a microsecond.
I didn’t even sense the body crashing into me until it was too late. I hit the ice and slid, slamming against the boards in the blink of an eye. Pain crashed into me, and the wind was knocked out of my lungs. Coach’s whistle blew, and I pressed the heelsof my hands against my chest, the tightness there like a band squeezing out my breath.
The noise around me was muted, like I was underwater.
I resurfaced slowly, everything coming into sharp focus as I sucked in shallow breaths. Coach was yelling. Lebedev, our first assistant coach, was in my face. “Focus on me.” He snapped his fingers, and I nodded.
“I’m good.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No, just winded. Who the fuck slammed me into the boards?” I asked. “Mironov was right there.”
“Who do you think Coach is yelling at?”
What. The. Fucking. Fuck?
A gloved hand on my shoulder had me turning. Gauthier was there, concern in his gaze. “I’m good, man. Just….” I huffed and shook my head, disappointment coursing through me. “I thought Mironov had my back,” I said quietly. Clearly, I’d been operating under the wrong assumption. Instead of trying to work as a team, Mironov was bringing up personal shit on the ice. That was a recipe for disaster.
Gauthier moved, and I got a clear view of Coach screaming. He looked like his head was about to explode. His eyes flashed with anger, and he used every inch of his six-foot-five frame to his advantage. He pointed to the bench and shouted louder than I’d ever heard him before, daring Mironov to test him. But the other man didn’t argue. If anything, he was acting pretty damn pleased with himself.
Minns was pale, and he darted a quick glance in my direction. His face was a mask of anger, but I could tell it was put on. The heat didn’t reach his eyes, and the way his hands shook showed me just how rattled he was. Fucker. But at least he wasn’t completely uncaring. At least he was checking on me in his own way.
Hewitt forcibly turned Minns around and delivered him into the hands of our opponents—our second line.
Minns knew the truth of our ex-relationship. He was fucking there that night. But even if he hadn’t been, we’d agreed it was okay—it didn’t need to be all three of us to get naked together. He knew I hadn’t cheated on him with his wife.
I’d been with him.
He’d had his dick buried in me, for fuck’s sake.
He needed to pull his attack dog off, or this was going to get ugly.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Lebedev muttered. “This is what happens when you can’t keep your dick in your pants, Huxley. I’m surprised it took so long.”
I glared at him and bit down hard on my mouthguard. I’d probably think the same in his position, but knowing he thought I’d stepped out on Minns with his wife stung. The promise I’d made to Minns not to out him was wearing fucking thin.
This was bullshit.
“Get back out there.” Lebedev waved me off, and Gauthier stepped in front of me, replacing Lebedev.
“I don’t want them on the ice with us. That was bullshit.”
“What, aren’t you going to lecture me too?” I huffed petulantly before picking up my stick that had bounced off the boards when I hit them.
