Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(73)

"Orting, Carson, Sono, Mase, Keith, and Breezin." Each name brought a cheer, each player congratulating me that I was back.





During warm-ups, our noise continued, cultivating us into what we would become tonight. We came out in a single file to the ice along the narrow rubber path, our heads down, focused on what we wanted.

The Zamboni drove off the ice and we burst on. For a while we skated easily, then formed a line to practice shooting. Our fans cheered; the Flyers fans booed.

"It's really good to see you back out here," Leo said, standing next to me as we all took shots. The Flyers were on the other side of the rink doing the same thing. I looked into the stands when Leo said that, and Ami caught my eye. They had finally arrived, all sporting their Hawks gear.

She smiled down at me, a wink from starry blue. She was wearing my jersey, sitting next to Callie and my family. "It's good to be back."

Leo took over, singing along loudly with the music playing in the arena. "You're the worst singer in the league."

Leo laughed, taking a wrist shot at the net. "Hockey players sing?"

"You apparently think so." I swung, smacking the puck off the wall, completely missing the net. "Though I have other ideas about that."

"My milkshake brings all the girls to the rink!" he shouted, giving his stick a rub and winking at Callie who was watching us.

"What's with you two these days?"

Leo sighed and rolled his eyes. "She's just…well, you know. She f*cks all of us, and the one time I try to ask her on a date, she gets all f*cking weird about it. I just wanted to have dinner with her, and she f*cking shot me down." He pointed to himself exaggeratedly. "Me…she shot me down." When I looked down, I noticed his hands were inside his pants.

"What are you doing?" Shaking my head, I looked away. Leo always had his hands in his pants. It was as if he thought his dick would fall off if he didn't touch it constantly.

"My cup is nowhere near where it should be." He dug deeper trying to fix it.

"What the hell, man? Stop touching yourself. Go to the locker room to fix that."

I skated away from him.

"Hey, come back."

"No. Get away."

Skating around, the sounds of our warm-up playlist blaring, it felt good to be back.

Coming off the win at home gave us the momentum we needed. The locker room had the noise, and Ami gave me some love before the game, but this being the last game of the series against two strongly matched teams. Anyone could win, and the Flyers had home ice advantage.





Play started quick and left no time for setting up plays. Just when we would, play would stop and then start again. We weren't backing down, though. We stiffened and pushed back. The game turned to center ice.

We were working them below the goal line, and they knew it. You could see it on their faces, the victory they so badly wanted being take away.

Shit got rough, too.

"Get back on the f*cking bench, you *!" Leo yelled at their center. He was all kinds of worked up, and after the hits he was taking out there by their defenders, he had every right to be.

I got out there and rocked a few of them, but they were big guys. They kept coming until they were slapped with a major.

We were sloppy for a while, constant possession changes, until Leo swooped back and stole the puck from Sealy as he moved to the net beside me. Laying it safely in the corner, Leo reached up with his stick and hooked Sealy, getting a penalty.

But we couldn't deny that the tempo of the game had been set, the mood set, our control, absolute.

Unlike other sports, you were never really in possession in hockey. The puck was always up for the taking. You couldn't strip the ball from another player in basketball. It was a foul. You couldn't run with it up ice like you can in football.

With the puck changing teams more than six times a minute, nothing could be done to change it. When it wasn't in possession, twelve men were fighting for it to gain control. Then it started all over again.

The goal was to be sharp, be fast, and think. Just like anything, the way of the game was won and lost was by your dedication to make it work.

We needed one goal to tie it up with thirty seconds to go in the third period.

Circling center ice, Leo grinned and looked at me. He was going for it. I gave him a nod, one that said, "You got this?" He nodded back. He went wide then crossed back over the ice before he made it to the crease. When he got there, he stopped and spun around. His stick went with him, but the puck remained at his feet. Sealy, watching his body and stick, didn't see the puck at his feet. He didn't see him sweep his stick between his legs either and tap the puck in.

We ended up in overtime and the format was slightly different in the playoffs. There was no sudden death. You went into another twenty minute period and the first team to score won.

That was when we got aggressive.

Remy took a shot first, missed, and knocked one off Sealy's stick, and then Leo got possession again, only to have it stripped away.

The Flyers put in Arkady Vadim, one of their veteran players. The guy was a f*cking maniac on the ice with speed, tricks, and consistency. Since starting in the NHL back in '03, he'd never missed a penalty shot or shoot-out goal and was nicknamed The Closer. The entire bench groaned and hung our heads when we realized who they put in. It wasn't good.