Page 46 of Over the Line

“Would you, though? Because I think the ratings would go through the roof.”

He rocked his head from side to side. “You might have a point.”

Onscreen, Philly’s head coach was gesturing furiously and screaming at the ref, whose back was to the camera. I wasn’t the world’s best lip reader, but the “what the fuck kind of fucking joke was that call?” was hard to miss.

Liam gestured with his glass at the screen again. “Oh hey, remember that ref I told you about whose wife cheated with a player?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah?” I glanced at the screen. “That’s him?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

I whistled. “Damn. Hockey is a small world.”

“It really is. They say everyone in the world is separated by no more than six degrees. I think in the hockey world, especially in the pro leagues, it’s closer to two or three degrees max.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Hell, when I went to the draft, I ended up sitting next to a kid whose front tooth I knocked out in U10.”

I coughed a laugh. “No shit? Like with a stick or your fist?”

He actually looked sheepish, which was super cute. “I pushed him into the boards.”

“Like… cross-checked him?”

“No, no. Like we were dumb kids, and—I mean, we wore face cages because we were in U10. He and I had been squabbling the whole time, and after the game—his team had utterly stomped mine. I was pissy as hell about it, and as I was leaving the ice, I just…” He gestured like he was knocking something over. “Pushed him into the boards. And he’d taken his helmet off by that point, so…”

“Oh no,” I said, grimacing even as I laughed.

“Right? I feel terrible about it now, and my parents grounded my ass for a month. But in the moment…” He chuckled as he shrugged. “I was a bit of a punk. Not gonna lie.”

“Wow. What did he say when you guys were sitting next to each other?”

“Eh, he called me a dick and we laughed about it. He got picked in the… fifth round, I think? Played for Winnipeg for two seasons, then ended up in Seattle. We still chat whenever we’re in the same city.”

“So, no bad blood?”

“Nah. He knows I was a stupid kid. I did apologize for it, though, because goddamn.” He exhaled, turning a touch serious as he played with the edge of one of his icepacks. “In fact, I was really glad we ended up there because I’d wanted to apologize for a long time. I was just too much of a coward to, you know, look him up and do it.”

“But the hockey gods gave you an opportunity.”

Laughing, he nodded. “The hockey gods giveth, and the hockey gods taketh away.”

That was very true, and on the screen, the hockey gods had given San Jose a power play thanks to Philly’s coach losing his head.

“How bad do they have to flip out for that to happen?” I asked. “The penalty against the coach?”

“Kinda depends on the refs?” Liam shrugged. “I’ve seen them do it over a coach swearing. I’ve seen them wait until he starts throwing shit and threatening to slash their tires.”

I guffawed. “Slash their tires? That’s happened?”

“Yep.” He chuckled. “Game six of the conference finals—I guess it was seven, eight years ago now? We were playing Boston, and they scored in double overtime. It was a pretty intense game anyway, since, well, overtime in a conference final, and Boston’s coach—he was a serious hothead to begin with. I was in the box at one point during that series and I could still hear him screaming about something. There are entire video compilations online just focusing on that vein in his forehead and wondering when it’ll blow.”

“Wow. That’s impressive.”

“I know, right? So anyway, we’re in double overtime, and they score. Our coach challenged it for offside, and when the refs agreed and pulled back the goal…” He shook his head, whistling low. “Man, their coach lost his mind. Which—not only did he get his own ass ejected, he put his team on the penalty kill during overtime. Not ideal.”

“Jesus,” I laughed. “Did you guys capitalize on that power play?”