Sleet Sugar by S.J. Tilly
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IZZY
I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Zach. He’s playing like he’s known his teammates for years, not weeks. Some of the credit should go to the other players, but a fair deal of it falls on Zach. He has a way of moving on the ice that looks almost nonchalant, when he’s actually being severely precise. At times, it seems like he’s not even paying attention, then - BAM!, he’s checking a guy against the boards hard enough to make my teeth rattle.
A force to be reckoned with, the number 13 fits Zach perfectly.
It’s been a little over a week since we toured the house. I haven’t talked to Zach since then, but Emma told me that they’ll be signing the purchase papers next week. It’s fast, but a cash offer on an expensive house tends to grease the wheels.
I’m a little surprised that he hasn’t hassled me, but I know how busy he’s been preparing for the start of the season. And when I’m alone, I can admit to myself that I miss him. I’ve been tempted to reach out under the guise of congratulating him on the house, but that’d be opening a door I have no intention of walking through. And I don’t want to lead him on.
So, that leaves me here, watching from the literal sidelines. And drooling into my candy.
We’re playing Florida tonight. They’ve always been a tough team. Not in the sense that they have a great record, more in the sense that the players are rough. Scrappy. A little more violent than necessary.
Sebastian LeBlanc, "Ash" to his friends and fans, has been in goal all night. He’s a fan favorite, and has been doing a stellar job. Keeping us up 3-to-1.
Florida has the puck, in front of our net, and the crowd of players swarming together is moving too quickly to track.
There’s a shot on goal. The puck is blocked, but not caught.
Zach's right in the middle of the mess, and he’s able to hit the puck out of the fray and towards the side boards. The attention of the players shifts, and the cluster of bodies turns.
I’m watching Zach, but movement at the goal that catches my eye. I look over in time to see one of the Florida players push Ash.
That’s so Not Okay. Nobody gets to mess with the goalie. Ever.
Eyes darting back to Zach, I see that he witnessed the same thing I did.
I’m on my feet, sucking in a breath, intent on screaming at the ref. But in the blink of an eye, Zach is on Florida Man. The guy is so surprised to see Zach that one hard shove to the chest is all it takes to send Florida Man sprawling onto his back.
Zach turns away from the player, content to call it even, but another player is already coming at him. With reflexes that I know I don’t possess, Zach deflects a punch swinging for his face. Using that same momentum, he continues his turn, raising his right fist and connecting it with the face of Florida Man Number Two.
Not letting the attempted cheap shot go unpunished, Zach immediately follows up with a left-handed punch. Number Two is off balance now, and with a level of strength that gets me all sorts of turned on, Zach grips the front of the other guy's jersey, hooks a skate with his own, and in one swift motion slams Number Two down onto the ice.
The crowd is going absolutely insane. Everyone is standing, making noise. Half are cheering on the fight, half are yelling at the refs for missing the call, but everyone is screaming.
Florida Man Number One has gotten to his feet and is coming at Zach’s back.
Words strangle in my throat as I brace for the hit… that never comes. Somehow Zach senses that the other guy is close. And, unfortunately for Florida Man One, he’s too close. Zach snaps an elbow back that connects with the guy’s jaw. The power and follow-through that Zach embeds into his hit sends Number One onto his back. Again.
The other Sleet players haven’t gotten involved in the fight, but they have prevented any other Florida players from joining.
Number Two is struggling to stand. I’m not sure if Zach is planning to leave it at that or go for more. The next move is decided for him when the refs skate in and put themselves between the players.
I am stupidly impressed. And embarrassingly aroused.
Zach showed a level of aggression and talent that I’m not sure I’ve seen combined before. He wasn’t brawling. He was surgically attacking. And he did it all to protect his goalie.
“Hunt! Hunt! On the Hunt!”
The arena sounds as enamored as I am. As they chant, I realize that I recognize the cheer from videos of Zach’s college days. I don’t know if they used it while he was overseas, but the grin on his face as he’s escorted to the penalty box tells me he’s happy to hear it again.
Dropping my butt into my seat, I see that I’ve accidently poured out the rest of my peanut M&Ms all over the floor.
Crap.
