Shutout | Complete

Chapter 21

The deafening collision of bodies shattered the air. My heart leaped into my throat at the same time I catapulted from my seat. There was no way this was happening. The player from the opposing team charged into Hendrix without any hesitation. It's like he didn't even attempt to avoid the collision. Hendrix went down like a cinder block dropped from a two-story window. His head collided with the ice, his helmet bouncing off of his head upon impact.

My hand flew over my mouth. My stomach churned; running a goalie was a cardinal sin amongst hockey players. That wasn't something you did unless you were trying to start an all out war on the ice. And it seemed like Brite was getting exactly what they were asking for.

The referee blew the whistle, but it was too late. Cole reached the net first. Throwing his gloves down on the ice, he gripped the back of the Brite player's jersey and hauled him up. Without missing a beat, his fist met the side of the man's head, the other was curled up in his jersey. Cole wasn't holding back. Each blow ricocheted into the rowdy crowd.

A full out battle broke out in our zone. I let out a shuddering breath. Hendrix was still down on the ice, trying to drag himself out of the way of the war being waged in front of him. While he was in the line of fire, a few of his teammates acted as a barrier, standing in front of their fallen goalie as they fought.

"Oh, fuck," Olivia hissed from beside me.

Eden stared into the mayhem with wide eyes. "What the hell is happening?"

"A line brawl." I sounded horrified, even to my own ears.

"What the fuck was that asshole thinking?" Olivia whispered, her beloved popcorn long forgotten on the seat behind her.

I shook my head, unable to tear my gaze away from the ice down below. It was like watching a train wreck. Gloves and sticks fell to the ground, getting lost in the shuffle of brawling hockey players. What was happening off the ice wasn't any better. Players from both benches were banging their sticks against the boards like an army preparing for battle, their faces contorted as they shouted. Trainers and coaches struggled to hold them back.

The only player who wasn't outraged was Liam.

He stayed glued to the bench, jaw clenched and eyes dark with fury. But his cold stare wasn't tracking the fighting that was taking place on the ice. It was trained on Hendrix, who had managed to roll onto his hands and knees from inside the protection of the net. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered our last conversation. The overt calm that came over him after Hendrix had threatened him.

No, Liam's an asshole, but he's not crazy.

"Someone's going to get seriously hurt," Eden murmured, tone laced with concern. Her blue eyes were trained on her boyfriend.

McKinley had a player bent over at his hips, jersey half pulled over his head. His helmet had also come off in the tussle, his long brown hair sticking to his forehead as he wrestled. A linesman skated over to them, trying to wedge himself between the pair. But instead of helping the situation, all three of them went tumbling down to the frozen surface.

The four officials tried their best to break up the fighting, but their orders weren't getting through to any of the players on the ice. Fists continued to fly, bodies slamming into each other.

"I can't imagine someone being that much of a sore loser to run the goalie," Olivia said with a shake of her head. "You don't think his coach put him up to it, do you?"

Both of us turned our heads to survey Brite's bench. It mirrored Fenton's. Players trying to make their way onto the ice with trainers and coaches holding them back. Brite's coach was red-faced, spitting as he shouted to his players on the ice. That wasn't the face of a man who sanctioned such a brutal hit.