Item number one on this agenda.
My young, sexy, talented as fuck, woman.
I wasn’t sure if she’d forgive me for this. For losing control and pounding Rozovsky ugly face into the blueline until it turned red.
At any rate, I promised myself one more goal before I had to make a decision either way.
I had the puck, and I skirted the right side of boards where there was currently complete open space. That elation I felt when I knew I’d have a clear shot flowed through me. But at the same time, I had to work to control my excitement.
Mind over matter.
Just when I was about to take a shot, I heard Edwards shouting behind me. “Go left, Moreau!”
Go left? If I did that, I’d screw my chance up completely.
In a split second, I remembered yelling the same thing to Trey two nights ago.
Only he hadn’t heard, or he’d chosen not to listen.
Against everything I knew, years of training and experience—not to mention just pure instinct—I gave up the shot and blindly ducked left like Edwards advised.
Not two seconds later, Rozovsky careened passed me at the speed of light.
On my right.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted, feeling a bucket of adrenaline course through my body in an instant. Miraculously, I somehow still had control of the puck. All I could manage at this angle was a weak, backhand.
Which might have been successful if Rozovsky hadn’t stopped on a dime and reached his stick underneath my skates.
The bastard.
I fell, but as I was crashing down, the puck bounced off the goalie’s right leg, landing directly between his skates.
Out of pure reflex—I swear I didn’t even think about it—I nudged the puck in with my stick.
I felt my body crunch, as I fell onto my arm. My head bounced off the ice, causing waves of pain to pulse through the rest of my body.
The crowd was going apeshit.
Everyone was on their feet, yelling and screaming.
“Fuck, you okay, man?” their goalie asked, shaking my arm. “That bloody asshole,” he muttered, seeming genuinely concerned for my well-being. He was likely equally concerned for his—seeing as I could have just as easily tripped directly into him.
I rolled over onto my back and groaned, “Yeah, I think so.”
Talking hurt my ribs, so I decided to stop doing that. I took a few good, deep breaths instead. Then he offered his hand to me and pulled my sorry ass up. “Thanks,” I said, shaking off the throbbing in my left elbow.
I wouldn’t really be needing it at the moment anyway.
“What’s wrong, can’t stay on your skates, Moreau?”
I turned to the asshole who was skating around me at the moment. “Think I had some help with that.” I glared at him as he stopped on the ice, mere feet from me.
“Your bestie tell you why we can’t play nice in the sandbox?”
“Yeah, he told me exactly why he—and his sister hate your guts. So now, I do, too,” I said, gliding up, nearly nose to nose with him now.
He let out an evil chuckle. “Whatever. She wanted it,” he said, leaning into me, “was fucking gagging for it.”