Page 118 of Cheap Shot

Luke’s legs burned as he took a seat in the penalty box. He took off his helmet and watched the replay of when he’d gotten his stick a little high on Leif Rasmussen.

Yeah, fair enough. He’d probably deserved that one.

He still thought Leif was being a whiny crybaby as he followed the ref around, showing off his rapidly swelling lip. No blood, so it had only been a two-minute minor instead of a double minor.

“Hey, Crawford!” a man called out from the crowd. “Getting real tired of your cheap shots on players. You’re not even a fucking good team if you assholes can’t win without head shots.”

Luke blinked because the chirp had come from where Sebastian usually sat, but it definitely hadn’t been him who said it. He glanced over to see an older guy glaring at him, sitting a few feet from Sebastian.

Crawford scoffed and called out, “Look, buddy, your chirps are as weak as your team. Why don’t you leave it to a guy who can deliver something good.” He nodded toward Sebastian.

Crawford caught a glimpse of a small smile crossing Sebastian’s face before he glanced back at the ice, his expression fading into something bland and neutral.

The older guy said something to Sebastian, who shrugged.

Luke squinted. Huh. Was Sebastian wearing a modern Rockets jersey tonight? Luke glared at the C on his chest. Hewas. And he was fucking wearing aNicholasCalhounjersey of all things.

Luke looked away. He polished his visor with a cloth, hating the way drops of salty sweat dried and left spots on the surface and impeded his vision.

He mopped at his face and squirted a little water in his mouth as he watched the Harriers bear down on the Rockets’ net, driving the puck toward Roman Poole’s net.

He batted it away and Luke gritted his teeth in frustration. They were already nine minutes into the second period and the game was still fucking scoreless.

Both teams had gotten good chances but with Jesse Webber in the Harriers’ net and Roman Poole in the Rockets’, there wasn’t a chance in hell of either team scoring easily.

The goalies were too damn good.

Luke settled his helmet back on his head and gripped his stick, watching as Rafe absolutely bodied a New York player and Mickey swooped in to retrieve the puck. He fired it to Eric Wyatt, who deftly skated between two of New York’s D-men, then chipped it toward the net.

This time, Poole batted it out of the air and smothered it.

Luke ground his teeth together again as they set up the next faceoff. Goddamn this was going to be a frustrating game the whole way through.

“Hey, Crawford,” Luke heard a moment later and he had to hide a small smile at the sound of Sebastian’s familiar voice. “I wouldn’t get too cocky about your chances. Nicky Calhoun is on a revenge tour tonight.”

Luke cursed as he watched Calhoun tear up the ice on a breakaway, decimating any attempts by the Harriers to backcheck. He fired it toward the net but Jesse poked it away with his stick, the play continuing.

Luke glanced over at the bench where Coach Rasmussen tapped Tanner on the shoulder and a moment later when Luke came out of the box, Tanner’s skates landed on the ice too.

They swept in, Tanner hustling behind the Harrier’s net and firing the puck to Luke. Luke passed it to Connor, who was hanging out near the blue line. He drove hard into the neutral zone, Anker and Graham swooping in as well and Luke watched intently as Connor passed to Anker, who fired it at the goal.

But Poole was right there, blocking the puck, and deflecting it toward Leif Rasmussen who was on the ice again.

Luke skated backwards, trying to keep pace with Rasmussen, trying to take away his shooting lane but Rasmussen deftly slipped around him and took another shot at Jesse’s net.

Once again, Jesse blocked it and their opponents regained possession of the puck.

Luke was left to chew on his mouthguard and curse the New York Rockets.

He fucking hated those guys.

The game was still scoreless as the second period wound down. The mood on the Harriers bench was one of frustration and Luke cursed when Graham got a great opportunity, only to be thwarted by another great save from Poole.

“I fucking hate this team,” Tanner muttered beside him as the team trooped off the bench to go to the locker room.

“Seriously,” Luke said with a sigh. “Fuck them all.”

“Didn’t think you were into that,” Tanner said, elbowing him in the ribs.