Chapter 23
Erik
I’m not going to be able to figure out what happened until I can see the game footage, but as the net is dislodged and I watch the two players grapple on the ice, I know our chances of winning this game against my former Demons team are down the drain.
We had a chance to tie it up. We were down 3–2 with a minute and ten left on the clock. Coach Perron waved Legend off the ice and the minute he cleared it, we put an extra forward out there. With our net empty, we were up a man in their zone and we were working hard to put the puck in the net so we could tie it up and force overtime.
Dax, Tacker, and Bishop have provided as good an offensive line as you can find in the league these days. I take the right-side point and our other defenseman, Carter Frost, positions himself in front of the net as a screen. The extra forward, a young rookie by the name of Guy Demere, also sets up in front of the net where a vicious pushing match ensues to clear line of sight for the Demons goalie.
Tacker moves to the right side just below me, while Bishop takes the center position near the blue line. Dax takes the left, and as anticipated, because Tacker is our best player, the Demons line as a whole drifts right when he gets the puck rather than hold their positions.
From here, the play is simple and we’ve practiced it together hundreds of times. Tacker should pass to Bishop, who passes it right back to Tacker, keeping the Demons defense right-side heavy. It would then go back to Bishop who will quickly unload it left to Dax.
If all goes according to plan, Guy is screening the goalie and Dax is already winding up his slap shot when Bishop starts to pass it. If it’s done fast enough, it should rocket into the net with no Demon being the wiser.
But that’s not what happens. One of the Demons defensemen, Lars Nilsson—who is actually a good buddy of mine as we played three years together—rushes Tacker and starts a shoving match with him. He cross-checks Tacker in the chest. Tacker gives it right back to him. It disrupts the play, causing us to shift over to the left side until Tacker can sort that shit out.
The puck goes from Bishop to Dax, who considers a shot then reconsiders, passing it across the ice to me. I glance to Tacker, and he’s all tied up with Nilsson. I glance back to Dax and that’s when all hell breaks loose.
Somehow, Tacker and Nilsson end up on the ice with Tacker on top. Nilsson is facedown, pinned under Tacker’s weight and I get a glimpse of my teammate’s face. It’s full of rage.
Tacker’s stick is across Nilsson’s lower back, pinning him down. I grimace when Tacker brings up a leg and presses his shin against the back of the dude’s neck. The refs and even the linesmen rush in to pull the players apart, whistles blowing the stoppage in play, but before they can reach them, Tacker cocks his leg back and viciously knees Nilsson in the head.
He then does it again and I see Nilsson’s eyes roll up into the back of his head.
Tacker is torn off the top of Nilsson, not by the refs, but by two other Demons who I know are going to beat the shit out of our captain and best player. None of us waste any time, skating at top speed to join the fray.
There’s several moments of flying fists, F-bombs, and new threats being made. Understanding that Tacker is the catalyst to this brawl, the refs zero in on him and manage to pull him free. He’s pushed by one official right toward the door that leads off the ice to the locker room, indicating that he’s being ejected for a game misconduct penalty.
The Demons fans go berserk with glee, as well they should.
We just lost our best player as well as the man advantage. More important, we also lost our momentum.
By the time they clear a dazed Nilsson off the ice, Legend gets set back up in the goal, the face-off occurs, and we manage to get control of the puck in the Demons’ zone, but the clock is our enemy and we run out of time to pull our goalie again.
The loss doesn’t sit well with anyone because whatever set Tacker off and caused him to attack Nilsson cost us any legitimate chance we had to try to tie the game and force overtime.
We all trudge back to the locker room with sagging shoulders. While we’re disappointed and heart-heavy over the loss, none of us are actually pissed at Tacker.
Well, Coach will be pissed, but as players, we all know that could have happened to any one of us out there. We play with passion and fire at all times. It’s a violent sport and we all take a beating during every game. I’ve been in that same situation…feeling like a bomb with a short fuse. Granted, it doesn’t happen to the veteran players often and Tacker usually has much more maturity and self-control out there, but the dude lost it and I’m not going to cry over it.
The mood is somber and quiet when we make it back to the locker room. Legend can be a hothead and he makes a big production of slamming his stick into his locker. The rest of us quietly get undressed and one by one head into the shower. As I’m walking in, Tacker’s walking out with his head hanging low with an utter refusal to look any of us in the face.
I give him a slight bump of my fist against his biceps as I pass him, muttering, “Don’t worry about it, dude.”
He doesn’t reply.
By the time I get out of my shower and back to my locker, Tacker is nowhere to be seen.
And then I hear it.
Coach Perron bellowing at the top of his lungs from the guest coach’s office that sits off the locker room. The door is closed and the walls are made of cinderblock, but there is no muffling an enraged coach’s voice.
“You goddamn stupid son of a bitch should know better than that,” Coach Perron yells.
We don’t hear a word from Tacker and I can imagine his stubborn refusal to engage. Best to let Coach get it out, and he continues on. “And if you think I’m pissed about losing this game, think again. I’m pissed because you are most definitely going to get sanctioned for this. You’re going to get suspended for fuck knows how many games and the team as a whole is going to lose our winning momentum. All because you couldn’t rein your temper in and had to make a jackass decision to start a fight out there when we had a powerful six on five advantage.”
There’s a moment of silence and then Coach yells, “Do you not have anything to say for yourself?”
Nothing.
Then Coach bellows, “Get the fuck out of my sight, Hall.”
When the door opens, all of us turn around and act like we weren’t just eavesdropping on the conversation. From the corner of my eye, I see Tacker grab his duffel and storm out of the locker room, presumably to the team bus that will take us straight to our hotel
“What in the fuck happened out there?” Bishop mutters, not loud enough for everyone to hear, but enough of us do.
“No clue,” I tell him.
“Happened too fast,” Dax says.
“I saw it,” Carter says in a low voice and takes a few steps toward us. He dips his head and lowers his voice even further. “Or rather, I heard it. Nilsson kept shoving Tacker with his stick, trying to rile him up but it wasn’t working. So he resorted to words.”
“What did he say?” Bishop asks through gritted teeth.
Carter gives a disgusted shake of his head. “He fucking brought up the plane crash.”
“What?” I growl, shooting up off the bench with my hand at my waist to hold my towel in place.
Carter nods. “Told him he played hockey as well as he flew planes.”
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Bishop yells and rams his fist into the frame around his cubby. “I’m going to kill that fucker, Nilsson. Going to find his house tonight and go kill him. You have to know where he lives, right Erik?”
“Yup,” I say because I’m all on board with this idea. That was about as fucking low as I’ve ever seen another player go, and I’ve seen some really fucked-up things out on the ice.
To bring up the plane crash to Tacker was beyond the pale. I can’t even imagine what the fuck was going through Tacker’s mind, but I saw that look of rage in his eyes and now I know why he attacked. Those two knees to the head were deliberate and they were probably made with the intent to do serious bodily harm to Nilsson. Tacker’s going to get in some serious trouble, no doubt.
But fuck. Tacker was piloting the small aircraft with his fiancée beside him that he was set to marry within a few weeks. I’d heard rumors that she didn’t die instantly, but suffered for quite a while before she did. Tacker was pinned in the wreckage and couldn’t help her. I’d heard it took rescuers over four hours to reach them and if his fiancée took any amount of that time to die while he watched and couldn’t do anything, I can’t say I blame Tacker for going after the guy.
If that had happened to Blue—
Fuck…I cannot even think about that.
Yeah…I’m all for going to kill Nilsson tonight.
Because Legend is no longer fucking Valerie, the flight attendant, we can’t quite play musical rooms. Thus, I’ve taken to buying a room at each hotel we stay at for Blue and I to share. I consider it to be perhaps the best use of the insane amount of money I make.
I make my way out of the bathroom after having disposed of the condom I’d just filled and slide back in bed next to her. I don’t bother to pull the covers up yet as I’m still warm after that insane bout of sex we just had. Despite the fact I’m always exhausted after a game, I still find energy in my reserve tank to go at it hard with Blue.
Tonight, I also had a bit of anger brewing deep inside me because of what happened to Tacker earlier. I texted Bishop when I got to the room and he said Tacker took off when we got back to the hotel from the arena. No one’s seen him since and I hope the fucker is okay.
A bunch of the guys went out tonight, and I had several of my former Demons teammates try to induce me to come out with them to sort of relive my glory days here. I declined for two reasons. First, I don’t want to be around them right now. While I’m betting they’d all think it was pretty fucked-up what Nilsson said to Tacker, they’re still teammates with the man and would be loyal to him. I doubt I’d be able to keep my cool tonight.
But more important, I have Blue. I don’t feel like carousing tonight. I have the option to bring Blue along, but I don’t want her to see me partying with my old mates. Those days are behind me. Blue’s partying days are behind her as well, and I remember all too clearly how offended she was when I called her a party girl.
For me, I’d rather be sunk deep inside my girl—or even lying beside her quietly in bed—than go out tonight.
“Something’s bothering you,” Blue says into the dark as she rolls toward me. She slips an arm over my stomach, and uses her fingertips to stroke patterns on my chest.
I smile into the darkness. Despite the fact we just got done giving each other extreme pleasure, she knew about the anger I was carrying silently.
“You know that fight Tacker got in tonight?” I ask her.
“Yeah.”
I proceed to tell her why it happened, feeling compelled to pull her into my arms when she gasps in outrage over what Nilsson said to Tacker. I hold her quietly while she vents her own anger, using very colorful curse words and asking me if we can go kill Nilsson. Just like Bishop, she asks, “You know where he lives, right?”
But she settles just the way I do, and then she turns melancholy for Tacker. “I wish he’d let us help him.”
“Not sure we can,” I reply as I stroke her back. “How do you help a man get over watching the woman he loves die?”
I know I couldn’t get over Blue dying.
I wonder if that means I’ve fallen in love with her? I’m thinking it probably does.