If they do get back together, even better for me. Rhett can remove the thorn in my side called Jack Leslie and I can get back to being the me I’ve always known and loved. It also solves my conundrum about convincing someone to come up here to look at Leslie. His man Rhett’s doing that. He’s all taken care of.
Chapter8
Went to a Fight, A Hockey Game Broke Out
On The Ice
JACK
It’s supposed to be a friendly exhibition game for charity, but it’s never friendly when it’s us against Boston. They’re our rivals. We don’t just want to win; we want to turn them to dust while we do it.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing right now. Our goaltender, Bers Stronghold, is skating out of his net to go after Lukkovnov for hanging out in his damn crease all night
I’m nearby, ready to do what I need to. All play has stopped, and mitts are dropped. They’re skating the standard counter-clockwise circle as they sus each other out and then Stronghold goes in for the hit with refs piling up on either side, letting them duke it out and blow off the steam of so much testosterone.
Lukkovnov’s strong, but he’s no Bers Stronghold. They grip jerseys and pound each other in the face until their helmets fall off. When Lukkovnov goes down, the ref blows the whistle to the sound of the guys on the bench banging their sticks against the boards and the roaring crowd.
Nothing a Canadian hockey fan loves more than a good hockey fight, especially when it involves a goaltender because it’s rare.
Just goes to show you how much Boston gets on our nerves. I check in on Coach to see his face and it’s everything I hoped for, full of bewilderment, wondering if this is the same team he coached in practice only yesterday. I’m sure a guy like him isn’t shy about on-ice menace, but it’s been three periods of this. One wild battle after the other.
A lot of penalty minutes.
He’s not sure what to yell at us at this point. There’s no stopping the momentum between us and Boston once we get going.
Casey tried to warn him at our last practice before this game. He said and I quote, “Sorry, Coach, but if Sutter comes near me, I’m going to fuck him up. He’ll be trying to do the same.”
Sutter and Case go way back. They have a long history of wanting to beat the shit out of each other on the ice. They used to be friends. Now they’re sworn enemies. They’ve done a good job on each other tonight. Casey’s face looks like a paint by numbers, but he painted the ice with Mitch Sutter’s blood from a right hook to the nose. Pretty sure it’s broken. Again. Casey’s broken it before.
Somehow, we squeak out a win. Two to one.
In the handshake lineup at the end of the game, no matter what happened on the ice, you say “good game” or “thanks for the battle” because all is fair in love and hockey.
The only exception is Boston. Sure, we shake hands and smile, but there’s a lot of chirping.
“You’re welcome for the improvements I made on your face, Alderchuck,” Sutter says.
He shrugs as he shakes his hand. “I tried my best with yours but there’s just no improving it.”
It’s funny because they both could pose for Sports Illustrated.
Back in the dressing room, Coach is pissed. He’s quite dapper in his gray suit. He’s all the more striking with rage coursing through him.
Stacey hands him a stick. “Here, you wanna break this, Coach? It’s what Coach Cannon used to do after Boston games.”
Mercy blinks rapidly several times as he processes that, but then takes him up on his offer and breaks the stick over his thigh, hucking it at the wall. “You were like toddlers on a fucking sugar high. We’re squeezing in an extra practice this week,” he hollers at us before turning heel and striding out on us.
Huh. Coach Cannon would have yelled at us longer. God rest his soul.
Nothing can ruin our high tonight. We’ve reached our first bi-monthly hockey social night. We can’t throw them at exact two-week marks because of our schedules, but they’re pre-ordained and roughly two weeks apart so we know when they are. We’ve been looking forward this.
Bet it crossed Coach’s mind to punish us by taking it away, but there would have been carnage. Tonight may not have been the best display of our hockey prowess, but we’ve been working hard enough in training camp I can say we’ve earned a night to let loose.
“What say you, boys? Rodney’s?”
“I say, let’s get dressed and get the hell out of here,” Casey says.
“Not so fast. We need to do our thirty,” Stacey points out.
