five;

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I pass  the puck to Lucas just as I'm slammed into the boards

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I pass the puck to Lucas just as I'm slammed into the boards. A sharp pain shoots down my side, nearly knocking the wind out of me. My attention flies to the guy who checked me: 37 HENDRICKS. I can take a hit just fine, but hopefully he can too. The next time I catch him near me on the ice I'll have no problem getting a penalty if it means getting even for that one.

When the second period ends coach Trent Wilson claps me on the shoulder as I'm taking a drink from my water bottle.

"You took quite a hit out there Woodsie," he says gruffly. He's fairly short and starting to bald, but that doesn't make the man any less intimidating. He was in the NHL before a knee injury took him out of the game, so he knows his shit. He also knows how to scare the hell out of college punks.

"I'll get him back."

"Don't go out of your way," Coach says with a cautious look. After just over three years together he knows the limits of my temper. "We're up by one and I won't have you blowing it." He also knows how to cool the fires of my anger.

I roll my eyes, but he's right. We're heading into the last period and he's not the only one who would be pissed if I fucked it up just because I wanted to get even. My ribs throb as a painful reminder, but I do my best to brush it off.

No one scores in the last period, but that's not entirely an unwelcome occurrence.

"Alright gentlemen, that was a decent game out there. Defense needs to work a little harder to protect those with the puck, but we'll just keep working at it during practice," Coach announces. He's standing near the exit of the locker room with his arms crossed over his burly chest.

Lucas groans beside me. "Why is it always D-men?"

"Wanna share with the rest of the class O'Connor?" Coach growls at Lucas.

I stifle a laugh behind my hand, playing it off as a badly timed cough.

"No sir," Luke barks back, his posture straightening.

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