Mind Pucked (Chicago Blue Jays #1)

24. Jackson

24

JACKSON

I stand in defense of the puck, across from the asshole who can’t keep his mouth shut…the one who used to be on our team back when Preston was with us. He got traded from the B team, and good riddance.

Wayne Goodall.

I slide by him and stick-check him as he mumbles something to me that I can’t quite make out.

“What’s with all the trash talk?” I wonder as I pass him, seeing Oliver going in for the kill.

This is the Stanley Cup, after all. Most of the guys are fairly neutral during the games, but there’s something about Wayne that sets me on edge.

He was a jerk when we played together, and he’s obviously a jerk now.

Oliver brings his stick back and slides it across the ice, and it hits the puck dead-on, sending it through the air at a complete parallel to the ground.

“Yeah, let’s go!” I raise my fist in the air over my head as the puck hits the net. “Woo!” I yell as Oliver and I bump chests and head back to reset for the next play.

I skate past a couple of the guys on the other team and notice Wayne at the last minute.

“Hey, Jackson,” he says, but I try to ignore him. “It’s good your wife is dead,” he growls, almost so low I can’t hear him, but I do.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” I bark at him as Vaughn puts an arm over my chest to hold me back.

“She was such a snoozefest…” he announces, louder this time. “I tried to get in her pants a time or two, but she never put out.”

My blood boils. I don’t know how to respond, and if it weren’t for Vaughn’s arms wrapped tightly across my chest, I would go after his ass and pummel him into the ice. I’m seeing red, but I know I can’t respond…we have a game to win, and Coach is counting on me to step up.

The little intervention we had was enough proof of that for me.

I skate away from the guys, heading back to where the referee stands in the center of the rink. I try to think of anything, absolutely anything other than what Wayne just said to me.

“Come on, man, don’t listen to that guy,” Vaughn says as he skates up to get into position.

“Yeah,” Oliver adds. “He’s an ass, just trying to heckle you into losing the game.”

“Not going to happen,” I say through my teeth as I seethe in anger.

The ref sends the puck into play as the whistle blows. The right wing from the other team comes forward as the center grabs the puck. He slices over the ice with ease, but already Felix is down and ready and Oliver is on his tail.

I skate behind, defending our goal as their left wing comes up beside Oliver. Benjamin and Vaughn are not far behind, making themselves available if Oliver can manage to steal the puck. Adrenaline is coursing through me and my heart sounds in my ears.

Our team has already had a hat trick or two under our belts for the Stanley Cup, and I have no doubts this maneuver will work. However, every time our team scores a goal, it seems to fuel Wayne’s irritation, and he won’t keep his damn mouth shut. My temper is going to get the better of me if I’m not careful.

Oliver tips his stick in toward the puck, swiping as if he might get it as he skates backward now, perfectly parallel to the player. Not all of us can skate backward as well as Oliver can. Coach says it’s a play we have under our belts to keep the other team on their toes.

I smile as he gets ready for the play that will win us possession of the puck.

“Yes,” I say under my breath as he manages to pull it off.

He spins with the puck at the end of his stick, making sure not to let it get too far ahead of him. Several of the others are closing in on him as I make my way up the right side, and I can feel the anticipation run through the crowd as they begin cheering louder. I fake left, then go right, throwing off the right wing behind me.

“Oliver, I’m open,” I let him know.

He realizes at the same time, and he sends the puck flying in my direction. I sweep my stick across the ice, grabbing the puck at the last second and then spinning around and heading toward their goal.

Their goalie crouches slightly, making an X with his knees as he anticipates the play. I look for an opening and see one just above his left elbow. I slide the stick in a J shape behind me, then let it go, swift enough that it sends the puck up and over his arm, almost hitting his elbow as it does.

I hear the whoosh of the net as it hits, and my team and I cheer, joining the deafening sound of the crowd as it goes wild.

I find myself spinning around to scan the crowd. I know Amelia isn’t out there, but she’s likely watching with Hayden at home. I’m still so furious at her, but I miss her dearly and I’m starting to wonder if things could ever be the same between us.

I head back to the ref to get into place for the next play. Wayne seems to be watching me, but I try to push the thought of him to the side.

That is, until he opens his mouth again.

“I hear you’re fucking the nanny,” he says.

“Screw off,” I say. I don’t know what this guy’s problem is.

I try to ignore him for the most part as I head back to join my team.

“I would screw her too—do you think I can borrow her for a night?”

I see red—redder than red—and I turn around and fly as fast as I can toward him. I don’t care that Amelia and I aren’t together anymore, or that my wife has been gone for a while now. He has no right to talk to me about them.

I plow into him a force that could cause serious damage as I cross-check him into the board. I feel his body bounce off my hands and against the board, and he falls to the ice with an oomph sound.

His helmet pops off, skittering across the ice and landing at the feet of their goalie. It must not have been fitted well to begin with if it came off so easily.

I’ve nearly lost my mind as I dive down on top of him and send my right fist into the side of his face. There’s something about him bringing Amelia into this whole equation that sets me off. I’m not sure that I even know what I’m doing, only vaguely aware of the fact my teammates are screaming at me from somewhere in the distance.

Wayne raises his fist and drives it into the cage of my helmet, sending it whacking against my nose. I think I hear bone crack as the metal meets my nose.

“Damn it!” I scream at him as I land another blow.

I’m also vaguely aware of the fact that the crowd has gone silent and there are cameras getting every moment of this, but I don’t care. Not even when Wayne gains the upper hand and flips me to my back. We roll over and over on the ice, fighting for any advantage we can.

Blood trickles down my nose, and I can taste it in my mouth, but it doesn’t stop me.

“You shouldn’t talk about things you have no idea about,” I seethe through my teeth.

“Has…to…be…some…accuracy…to…it!” Wayne shouts, punctuating each word with a punch to my head.

I spin again, but before I can land another hit, I feel arms wrapped around me. “Come on Jackson,” a voice calls from behind me, but it feels like it’s coming from far away.

Arms tug at him and me as they try to pull us apart, but we’re both latched on, our arms locked around one another as they pull.

“You’re outta here, Jackson,” I hear Coach’s voice call, and that finally drags me back to reality.

I pull away on my own, looking down at Wayne as his friends help him to a standing position. I don’t say anything to him as the reality of what I did hits me like a ton of bricks.

I head toward Coach, who’s standing on the edge of the ice in his tennis shoes.

“Sorry to let you down, Coach,” I say as I go to pass him, but he stops me with a hand to my shoulder.

“I know you have a lot on your plate, son, but there’s no call for this kind of behavior. You’re out for the rest of the game.” We both look up at the scoreboard to see there are only fifteen minutes left of the game. “See the medic, then join the B team on the bench.”

“Understood,” I say.

I toss my stick, gloves, and helmet on the bench, and head to the medic. I don’t say anything as he adjusts my nose. I’m glad it’s not broken, but it is out of place.

“Ow!” I say as the medic jerks it back in position.

“Well, it’s what you get for thinking you’re Rambo or some shit,” the medic teases as he hands me a rag to soak up the blood.

After I’m clean enough, I hold ice to my nose and then sit down to watch my guys win the Stanley Cup without me as I wonder what in the world I was thinking. Sure, what Wayne said about my wife angered me, but talking about Amelia like that…there must be something wrong with me.

How can I feel so strongly for a woman who thinks I’m capable of killing her brother?

I shake my head as the guys come sliding off the ice. I know Coach will let me celebrate with the guys in the locker room, but it’s no thanks to me that my guys won by the skin of their teeth.

“Congratulations,” I say as I hug my friends close in a celebratory hug. “I’m sorry to all of you for my behavior tonight,” I offer them as we all pull apart. “It won’t happen again, but hey, we won the Stanley Cup!”

My team joins me in a chant of whoops and hollers, and they seem to have forgiven me for my ridiculousness.

“Blue Jays rule! Blue Jays rule! Blue Jays rule!”