Yeah! This was more like it.
But the Wolves were getting frustrated. Their hits got dirtier, and the refs weren’t seeing them, for fuck’s sake. Duncan was behind the net when Girolama planted himself in front of Stoykers yet again. Stoykers said, “Hey, Bamalama, you gonna buy me dinner?”
“What? Why would I buy you dinner?”
“Because I like it when a guy buys me dinner after I get fucked.”
Duncan grinned.
When Smythe pressed him against the boards as they fought for control of the puck, Duncan turned his face and said, “Oh yeah, harder. That’s how I like it, honey.”
Smythe snarled and Duncan shoved back at him, getting his stick on the puck. Asshole.
He took another hit into the boards moments later for his smart-ass remark that took a minute to get up from. And still no fuckin’ penalty.
He skated down the ice, the play moving ahead. He watched Dvorak pass the puck and then it happened so fast, it felt like slow motion for all the thoughts that raced through his head. He could see Girolama going at Hughie. It was late, it was after the play, surely to Christ he wasn’t going to…he did. He leveled Hughie with a high hit, his elbow knocking Hughie’s helmet off, and Duncan watched in horror as Hughie fell, bare head hitting the ice. Jesus fucking Christ!
He put speed on, racing to Hughie, his gut twisting, adrenaline flooding his veins. But by the time he got there, Hughie had already leaped to his feet. Conscious. Okay, at least there was that. But Hughie was not only dazed and wobbly, he was looking around for Girolama, to go after him. Duncan skated straight to Hughie and wrapped his arms around him.
“No, buddy,” he said in Hughie’s ear. “Don’t do it. It was a bad hit. It was late and it was high. He’s going off for sure. Don’t do it.”
Hughie didn’t resist all that much, and even though he was conscious, Duncan was worried about him. He felt Hughie start to go down again and held him up. They were joined by others.
“Okay, Hughie?” Duncan kept talking to him, skating him toward the bench.
“I’m good,” the big D-man said.
Duncan had his doubts.
Given the hit on the head, Hughie had to go off and get checked out as part of the concussion protocol. As the replay of the hit displayed on the big screen, showing how fucking dirty it was, the crowd went nuts. Christ almighty, Girolama would be lucky to get out of the arena alive.
And Duncan was right, he was gone with a five-minute major and a game misconduct. And that would no doubt be reviewed to see if there should be even more punishment. The Aces would start the second period with nearly a five-minute power play.
“Saw that coming,” Duncan growled to Duper beside him on the bench. “Fuckin’ asshole was on my case right from the opening face-off.”
During the first intermission, Coach gave them a big talk about the high road and how they didn’t need to get revenge, that that shit would take care of itself, stick to their game, yadda yadda. “Hit ’em hard, but hit ’em clean,” Coach said. Duncan bought into that, despite the rage that filled him thinking of that dirty hit on Hughie.
They did what Coach wanted them to do. Stuck to their game. They hit hard but clean. The hit got them fired up and the major penalty got them another goal, and they ended the second period up three-nothing. Then in the third, Duncan glanced up the ice and saw it—all the Wolves were down in the Aces end. He banged his stick on the ice to get Rico’s attention. “Here!” he shouted. Rico looked up and without hesitation passed him the puck.
Adrenaline shot through Duncan’s veins as he caught it and started skating as fast as he could. He abruptly put on the brakes, showering ice as a Wolves’ D-man tried to stop him, spun around him, and continued. Aware of where his teammates were, behind him, he could still see it, all the way to the net, a breakaway. It was that zone that happened sometimes, where he knew exactly what he had to do.
He was going in, all on his own. The crowd was screaming. He sensed the Wolves behind him trying desperately to catch him, but he focused on the net, picked out the spot he wanted, over the goalie’s right shoulder, top shelf. Don’t panic. Take your time…He controlled the puck, faked a little shot to the left, then snapped it right, airborne…up…over…Yes! His fist shot into the air and one knee came up as he hurtled past the net and into the boards. He gave the glass a smack with a gloved hand, vaguely aware of the overjoyed fans sitting in the first row banging their hands on the glass with huge smiles, and then his teammates were on him, hugging him.
“Beauty breakaway!” Rico said.
“Great shot!”
They did the celebratory skate past the bench to bump gloves, and Duncan again couldn’t resist a look up to where Amber and his sister were, both wearing broad smiles, standing and clapping.