Nine
“It’s always a fun time when all three Prescotts are on the ice, wouldn’t you agree, Troy?”
“Yeah, we don’t get to see it often, with the Enforcers and Rockets being in different conferences. What is it, Mike; maybe once a year?”
“If that!”
“The youngest brother, Porter, always has a mouth on him but it doesn’t seem to work for him when playing San Diego.”
“And they’re lining up now for the face-off. Looks like it’ll be Caleb in the center. Charleston’s moving Porter to a wing. I’d love to see those two go head to head.”
“I’m sure Kent Hitch’s theory is that Porter can read Caleb’s movements, thus retrieving the puck, even if Caleb were to win it.”
“And to prove that point… There it is. The oldest Prescott won the face-off, but the puck still found its way to the youngest Prescott. Caleb’s game has been a little off the last few months, but he’s almost back to his top shape.”
“He and his wife are heading a Hockey Fights Childhood Cancer game in November. I know the public is pretty excited for it. I’m curious if we’ll see Porter at the event. Charleston does not play that day. Back to the ice, and Porter Prescott passes it to Nico D’Amaco, and now Porter is set up near the net. D’Amaco passes it over to Hills, who snaps it wide to Porter. There’s a scuffle behind the net as Porter and Winski battle it out. Winski frees the puck, clearing it back to Rockets’ defending zone. We have a line change, with Caleb Prescott heading in to the bench. Porter Prescott makes his way to the boards. That kid won’t stop! He’s got a fire lit today, Mike.”
“You’re telling me, Troy. He’s chasing the puck and…Oh! That looks like it hurt. Johnson just slammed him into the boards.”
“No love lost there, Mike.”
“Rockets continue possession of the puck, but it’s not looking like Porter’s getting up…”
Caleb
I watched it from the bench in slow motion.
Watched as Johnson slammed Porter into the boards. Kid needed it. Sometimes he needed to be knocked down a peg or two.
He’d been in a foul fucking mood the last few weeks. So, the girl he was supposed to marry decided not to. Boo-fucking-hoo. I didn’t see Asher leaving the family any time soon and either they’d fix the fuck what was going on with them, or they wouldn’t.
I wasn’t trying to discount what Asher had been through.
But Porter needed to grow the fuck up.
Try losing a fucking kid.
I bit my tongue to keep the never-ending tears at bay. Bri was still too fresh of a loss, especially when watching baby Braelyn grow up. Another baby with brown hair.
My redheaded girl, my little lady Bri, was going to be our only redhead.
Brae was seven months now.
Her smile was the same one Bri wore.
I shook my head and kept my eye on the puck but Winski skated into the bench and tapped my shoulder. “Ports isn’t getting up.”
I looked back down the ice, behind the Charleston goal and sure enough, my kid brother still lay there. I frowned.
The puck was still in a battle in front of the Charleston net but surely someone would catch—
And there it was. The whistle.
It may have only been a matter of seconds, hockey was fast like that.
“Get up, Ports,” I mumbled, leaning into the boards. Soon, Charleston’s medic was on the ice and everyone was moving to their benches. Jonny skated in, standing on the other side of the boards from me.
“What happened?” he asked, his eyes on Porter. “I know Johnson hit him but I didn’t see anything else.”
“I didn’t see the hit,” I told him. Winski nudged my shoulder and jutted his chin up to the Jumbotron. The hit was played in slow motion.
It was clean, but the angle…
I winced as I watched Porter’s knee go out from under him.
“Is he awake?” Jonny asked, leaning his body away from the boards to try and get a better view.
Not caring if it was frowned upon, I jumped the boards, “Let’s go see,” and skated my way to where Charleston’s staff was leaning over Porter, having moved him to his back. I didn’t realize Jonny was behind me until he angrily told someone to “piss off,” that he and I would be over here if we wanted to.
“Is he ok? He awake?” I asked.
The medic looked over his shoulder at me, his hands pressing around Porter’s left kneecap. “I’m thinking it’s either a sprain or tear in his knee. He’s awake, just—”
“I’m fucking fine,” my kid brother groaned from the ice.
“You look it, kid,” Jonny answered.
“Fuck off.”
That was so like Porter.
“Glad this is going well,” I mumbled. Kid would be fine.
But it was looking like he’d be out the season.