A few hours later, I finished up a light workout before the game and was feeling charged, despite my rough morning at home. The good vibes coming from the crowd when we took the ice were a huge jolt to my already pumping adrenaline. It probably helped that we were playing the Vancouver Canucks, one of our biggest rivals. They were in the Pacific Division, and we were in the Central, so it wasn’t a division rivalry, more of a personal one between teams. For some reason, more blood was shed on the ice when we played them than any team in the whole league. We looked for reasons to fight each other and I didn’t expect that game to be any different.

The first period was exciting but nerve-wracking. The score bounced back and forth. First, Viper scored a goal for us; then they scored against me. Then Big Mike scored for us and they scored again almost immediately.

We were skating off the ice for intermission after the first period and I got cut off by Edgar Shepard, one of the biggest assholes in all of professional hockey. He stood a couple inches taller than me with a shiny bald head. A huge scar went from one side of his cheek to the other, a souvenir from where he got sliced up by a skate years ago. He also had a loud mouth and no skills on the ice—a terrible combination. We had jarred with each other before, so him spouting off was nothing new.

“Sorry, Murphy. Did I get in your way?” he sneered as he skated right in front of me, almost making me fall flat on my ass.

“Fuck off, Shepard,” I bit out continuing past him.

After a quick team talk from Collins, we all went back out with renewed determination. I took my spot on the ice and started cleaning the crease. It was always too slick after the Zamboni made its run during intermission.

Players from both teams were scattering about and taking their places when Shepard skated behind my net.

“What’s with you, Murphy? You’ve been playing like shit for days. Getting old?”

I ignored him, determined not to let him get to me. The game was close and it was obvious he was attempting to rattle me to gain an edge.

The second period was brutal, fast-paced, and intense. There were three fistfights, and Viper sat in the penalty box nearly the entire time. Despite all the shenanigans, the score didn’t change. Still tied 2-2.

We took the ice at the beginning of the third period and I rolled my eyes as Shepard skated my way again. He skidded to a stop about three feet from me and grinned, without saying a word.

“What do you want?” I snarled, still refusing to make eye contact with him.

“Jensen? Is that Kacie’s last name?”

My skin tingled with adrenaline as my head snapped toward him. I clenched my jaw and lifted my helmet up so I could look him straight in the eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck this game of yours is, Shepard, but you just took it to a whole other level. Back the fuck off.”

His eyes widened while he continued grinning at me, enjoying my anger. “Whoa! Did I hit a nerve? Relax, Murph. I was just asking a simple question in case I wanted to look her up. Ya know, since you two are done and all…”

Breathe. He’s just trying to get under your skin.

I laughed, trying my hardest to look amused by his threat. “Regardless of whether we’re done or not, she’s way too classy to give your dumb ass the time of day. I would say good luck, but it wouldn’t help anyway.”

“That’s too bad.” He skated closer, leaning in. “I heard that hot little cunt of hers is worth all sorts of trouble.”

I. Lost. My. Fucking. Mind.

I dropped my gloves on the ice and lunged at him, grabbing the collar of his jersey and pushing him backward. He fell back hard, his helmet slamming against the ice. I climbed on top of him and started punching as hard as my restrictive pads would let me.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

I lost track of how many times I hit him.

Blood splattered the ice next to his face as he wrapped his hands around my throat and tried to push me off.

“That’s enough, you two!” It felt like a dozen arms wrapped around me, pulling me off of him. Two refs and most of my teammates were standing around as I stood up, my chest heaving. Fans were banging on the glass as his team skated up behind him screaming at me, but I was so zoned in on getting my hands on him again that I didn’t even hear what they were saying. He got up off the ice with help from Pekarske, their center, and wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his cheek. He looked up at me and grinned again, now missing a front tooth.

“Both of you, off the ice!” the ref shouted.

Viper skated up next to me, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Back off,” I roared, staring straight ahead.

“Dude, you just got a game misconduct penalty. Now you’re out the rest of this game and maybe the next. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Get away from me!” I pushed his chest back, sick of him yelling in my ear.

I skated over to my bench and past Collins, whose red face stared out at the ice as he gritted his teeth. “Louie, get in there,” he yelled as I made my way to the locker room where I watched the rest of the game by myself.

My team lost 4-2, but I lost a hell of a lot more.

“What is he doing?” I yelled into the stillness of the living room. I watched in horror as Brody climbed on top of a guy from the opposing team and started punching him. There wasn’t even a play near them at the time.

“Oh my God, this isn’t good.” My mom pulled her hands up over her mouth.

“Wait.” I squeaked, slightly panicked, “It’s normal, right? There are always fights in hockey.”

“Not like this.” Fred shook his head. “Goalies very rarely fight. They are off-limits. And the game wasn’t even going on. Something else happened here.”

Brody was relentless, hitting the guy over and over. Viper and a couple other guys I didn’t recognize rushed over with the refs and pulled Brody off of him. The other guy stood up and had blood all over his face.

“Did he just smile at Brody?” I asked incredulously.

“I think so.” Fred scratched his head, frowning at the TV.

“What is going on down there?” one of the TV announcers asked.

“I’m not sure, but we were still in intermission. Something must have set Murphy off,” responded the other man.

“You know, Bill, that’s par for the course with Brody Murphy lately. He’s been a little off the whole season, but particularly this last week. That stunt he just pulled will most likely get him suspended for at least one game, maybe more.”

Suspended?

The ref said something to both men and pointed off the ice. Brody turned and started skating away with Viper following right behind him.

“Wait. Did he just push Viper?” My eyes widened.

“He did.” My mom still stood with her hands cupped against her cheeks. “What is going on with him?”

Once he was off the ice and out of sight, I sat on the couch and dropped my head into my hands. “What should I do?”

She sat down and put her arm around me. “What can you do, honey? Unfortunately, nothing.”

“I just… I wish he would talk to me.” Tears stung my eyes as I searched my mom’s face for answers. “I haven’t spoken to him in days. How can he just turn it off like that?”