Grumpy Puck

15. Michael

Chapter 15

Michael

B y the time I’m finished gearing up, all my teammates are long done, and Coach is waiting to give a speech.

“Do you mind if I say a few words this time?” I ask him.

He looks taken aback but shakes his head.

“Listen, guys.” I make eye contact with each and every one of them. “I know technically this game doesn’t count toward anything, but I’m here to tell you that it does. It’s actually the most important game of your life because everyone expects you to fail, and fuck that.”

I continue with a speech that was strongly inspired by one that the US hockey team received during the 1980 Olympics, before they defeated the much stronger Soviet hockey team in a victory so unlikely it is known as the “Miracle on Ice.”

Because we need our own miracle here.

When I finish, everyone cheers and not sarcastically, as far as I can tell.

“I don’t think I’m going to give a speech today,” Coach says with a grin. “Michael is a hard act to follow.”

Isaac looks like I’ve pissed into his beer. He probably had a plan to play at captain and say a few words.

Everyone else cheers again, and we head to the rink.

On the way, I try to psych myself up the way I did my teammates, but that’s difficult to do. Everything has gone so wrong up until now. For fuck’s sake, I even broke my cardinal rule: no sex before a game. And what’s worse, a part of me feels that even if we lose, having been inside Calliope might’ve been worth it.

Regardless, we shouldn’t have done that before a game.

Not to mention, it was just too good. Scarily good.

“Man, are you seeing this?” Isaac asks, pointing toward the middle of the rink, bringing me back to reality.

I follow his finger, and my hands ball into tight fists.

The Yetis’ team mascot—a red-eyed ape-like creature with white fur—slaps the face of the bear-suit that houses Calliope.

The world turns into a red tunnel of fury. Leaping for the rink, I close the distance between me and the yeti asshole with a couple of strides, and then my fist slams into the ape-like face hard enough that I feel a jaw under all that plush material.

Flailing extra-long furry arms, the yeti glides back until it hits a wall and collapses.

People in the stands laugh, probably thinking this is part of the mascot act.

“What the hell?” Calliope demands, her bear paws on the wide hips of her outfit. “Why did you do that?”

“I saw him slap you.” I skate over to the fallen yeti and use the front of my blade to poke where the ass would be in a human. “Get up. I’m not done with you.”

I would address the asshole by his name, but for the life of me, I can’t recall what it is—that is, if it’s still the same person as when I was on the team.

“It was just a skit,” Calliope hisses. “He approached me when I was doing some photobombing and suggested we play-fight each other.”

“Fuck.” I feel like more of an ape than the guy I just punched. I bend a knee next to the yeti. “You all right?”

“Please,” he says in a raspy voice. “Don’t hit me again.”

“He won’t,” Calliope says reassuringly.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I say gruffly. “Sorry.”

The yeti sits up. “It’s okay. I guess. Help me up? The show must go on.”

I help him up, and then Calliope makes me fall over an invisible rope as revenge. When my ass hits the ice, the crowd laughs uproariously.

After I get up, Calliope and the yeti approach me on opposite sides, and because her hand is hidden behind her back, I’m able to anticipate the moment when she throws a cake at my face—so I dodge it.

The cake slams into the face of the poor yeti—and he collapses yet again.

“Why did you do that?” Calliope demands angrily.

“I never agreed that you could pie me whenever you wanted.”

I go help the guy get to his feet, again, but he tells me that he is fine, and that he fell just for laughs.

“That was a cheesecake, not a pie,” Calliope retorts. “And you deserved to get hit with it.”

“Agree to disagree.” I turn to the other mascot. “I’ll buy you a beer after the game.”

“No, thank you,” the ape says.

“Translation,” Calliope says. “He never wants to see you again.”

A hand lands on my shoulder. “The game is about to start,” Isaac says.

“Sorry,” I say again to the yeti and rejoin my teammates.

“Good job defending your lady’s honor,” Dante says from under his goalie’s mask.

“I was simply in the mood to punch someone pale,” I growl back at him. “So I’d be quiet if I were you.”

“Whatever,” Dante says, his tone more serious as he looks over the opposing team. “Where’s Tugev?”

I scan my former teammates but do not spot the man in question. “Weird. I don’t see him either.”

“It’s fine,” Dante says. “I’ve seen him on video. Plus, he’ll be at the face-off.”

Right. Speaking of that.

“It’s time.” I skate over to the middle of the rink, where a referee is already waiting.

But then Noah Brown—a Canadian player who I thought was on a completely different team—skates over for the face-off.

“Where’s Tugev?” I ask and then realize this is the first time I’ve spoken during a face-off in my life.

“Tugev retired,” Noah says. “You didn’t hear?”

I’m so stunned that I would miss the puck if the referee were to let go of it right now. Then a wave of righteous fury overtakes me, one that was already primed when I thought Calliope was under attack.

How dare Tugev not be at this game? The whole point was that?—

The puck hits the ice.

My instincts kick in. I take it from Noah and pass it to Jack, as was part of the plan.

Channeling all my frustration with Tugev into skating, I quickly end up face to mask with Jason, a.k.a. Friday, the Yetis’ goalie, and as per the plan, the puck is passed back to me.

Jason looks ready, but I don’t give a shit. I feign a shot, then smash the puck and score right between Jason’s legs.

My team goes wild, and the jumbotron shows both Calliope and the rat on her shoulder clapping their paws.