Page 39 of Puck Your Bunny

WALLY:

We will. Enjoy the game, sweetheart. See you tomorrow.

I lock the phone and shove it into my bag. The lingering anxiety evaporates. She is safe. Brendan is safe. I grab my helmet from the top shelf of the locker. I strap it on, clicking the plastic chinstrap into place. I grab my stick and stand up.

The locker room doors swing open, hitting the cinderblock wall with a dull thud. Coach Sampson steps into the room, a scowl etched deep into his weathered face. He holds a tablet tucked under his arm.

The pacing stops. Two dozen guys turn their attention toward the front of the room. The arena's ventilation hums in the background.

"Alright, listen up." Coach taps his tablet, lighting up the digital smartboard behind him. "The Bears think they own the ice because they hold the cup. They think they can bully us in the neutral zone with their traps. We dictate the pace tonight. We hit them fast. We hit them hard. We take the puck and we keep it."

Kel stands up, slamming his stick against the rubber floor. Simon follows, his green eyes burning with competitive fire. The rest of the team joins in, banging their sticks against the benches. The noise echoes off the cinderblock walls.

Coach nods, a tight smirk replacing his scowl. "Let's go take their pride!"

I push past the double doors and lead my team down the concrete tunnel. The roar of the Heathstead crowd echoes ahead. My head is clear. I have mates waiting for me at home. I plan to win this game for them.

We step out of the tunnel and onto the ice for the pre-game warm-up. The Heathstead crowd screams. A wall of noise rolls down from the packed bleachers. Fans bang their fists on theglass, chanting insults and waving foam bear claws. The cold air bites my lungs, clearing the locker room fog from my head.

I lead the team in a wide circle around our half of the rink. My skates carve deep grooves into the fresh surface. We break into our standard passing drills. I take a crisp pass from Simon and fire a wrist shot at the net. The rubber smacks the goalie's pads and ricochets into the corner.

Kel practices his backward crossovers along the blue line, keeping his stick low. We spend twenty minutes cycling the puck, stretching our hamstrings, and tuning out the hostile crowd.

The buzzer blasts through the arena, ending the warm-up session. We funnel back to the bench to clear the ice for the Zamboni. I grab a water bottle, take a long pull, and squirt the rest over my face to cool down. My blood pumps fast. The adrenaline kicks in.

Minutes later, the resurfaced ice shines under the bright overhead lights. The starting lineup gets called. I hop over the boards and glide to the center circle for the opening face-off. Kel flanks my left side. Simon sets up on the right wing. Hutton and Graves drop back to anchor the blue line. Price secures his mask and taps his goalie stick against the metal posts behind us.

The Bears' star Alphas retired right after winning the cup last season. I remember this guy centering their second line. Now he wears the captain's letter on his jersey and glares at me through his plastic visor. He flashes a missing front tooth like a badge of honor. He carries a reputation for dirty hits. The referee drops the puck between us.

I snap my stick down, winning the draw. I sweep the puck back to Kel on the left wall. The game erupts into motion.

The Bears play with a punishing style. They aim to hit anyone who touches the puck. Within the first three minutes, their defensemen take runs at us. They check Hutton and Finnickinto the boards, trying to intimidate our defense out of the zone. The sound of pads crashing against the fiberglass boards echoes through the arena.

My lungs burn fifty seconds into the shift. I glide to the bench and hop the boards, making way for the second line. We cycle on and off the ice, grinding through short shifts to keep our legs fresh.

Halfway through the period, my line hops back over the boards. Simon flies down the right wing. His skates blur with speed. He chips the puck past the blue line, hunting for an opening in the defense.

Number forty-two lines him up. He waits for the puck to leave Simon's stick, then steps right into his path. The Bears' defenseman grips his stick with both hands and drives the shaft straight under Simon's chin for a late cross-check.

Simon flies back. He crashes onto the ice, sliding across the slick surface and slamming into the corner boards.

The referee blows his whistle. The crowd roars in approval.

My jaw clenches. I drop my gloves, ready to tear the guy's helmet off. Kel beats me to it.

Kel launches himself across the ice. He zeroes in on number forty-two. He drops his stick and gloves, grabbing the front of the defenseman's jersey. He lowers his shoulder and explodes upward, driving his entire body weight into the guy to take him down. Kel throws a brutal right hook.

The impact rattles the glass across the arena. The refs swarm them, blowing their whistles and breaking up the fight. Number forty-two folds in half, gasping for air on the ice. Kel stands over him, his chest heaving as the linesman drags him backward.

"Keep your stick down!" Kel points a bare finger right in the guy's face.

The referee skates to the penalty box to announce the calls. Two minutes for interference on forty-two. Five minutes forfighting and an extra two for instigating on Kel. We lose a man and start the penalty kill. We send a massive message, though. We protect our own.

We grind through the rest of the first period. Every forty-second shift turns into a battle for ice position. The Bears trap us against the boards, throwing cheap shots whenever the refs turn their backs. We hit the locker room at the intermission tied at zero.

The second period starts with a shift in momentum. I win another face-off in the defensive zone. I snap the puck back to Graves. He banks a hard pass off the side glass. I catch the rebound and spot Simon breaking out of the group near the right boards. I whip a saucer pass over the sticks of two Heathstead players.

The puck lands flat on Simon's tape. He hits the blue line with explosive speed. He leaves the sluggish Bears' defense eating his ice shavings. He gets a clean breakaway toward the net.