Ice Time by David Skuy

slammed on the brakes, pulled the puck toward him with the tip of his blade and set off around the net.
    Rory was at the half-boards. Rocket was about to pass it, but the left defenceman pinched and the pass wasn’t there. The centre was standing still in front. Dead legs or not, Rocket knew it was up to him to carry it out of their zone. He ignored the pain, rounded the net on the goalie’s stick side and headed up. The quick move caught the centre off guard. All he could do was reach his stick out. Rocket swung the puck to his backhand to avoid the poke check. Rory cut inside for a pass. The Rams’ right defenceman moved forward to cover Rory. Rocket decided to keep it.
    Suddenly, Rory went down.
    “What’s that?” Rocket screamed.
    The defenceman had hip-checked Rory at the knees, and Rory had fallen to the ice like a rag doll.
    Rocket’s tiredness disappeared. He dropped his gloves and stick and charged. He threw a right hook at the defenceman’s chin and followed up with two left hooks at his ear. The defenceman staggered back. The Rams’ left defenceman pulled Rocket away by the shoulders. Rocket turned and hit him with a hook to the body.
    “Easy, kid,” the defenceman said calmly. “This is over.” He kept hold.
    He was a really big guy, with a thick, heavy frame, and Rocket could feel his strength — not a guy to mess with.
    “What’s with the cheap shot?” Rocket fumed.
    “I get ya,” the defenceman said. “But it’s done.”
    Rocket looked up. The defenceman’s beard was speckled with grey, and his forehead and the area around his eyes had a few wrinkles. He also had a dark scar running down one cheek, and his front teeth were missing. Rocket tried to pull away. No point. The guy was too strong.
    “We good?” the defenceman said.
    “Yeah, I’m done,” Rocket said, and the guy let go.
    Rocket wanted to take another run at the right defenceman. Rory was still down. Hockey had a code, though. A fight was over once you agreed to stop.
    Goldsy was leading Nadav to Rory. Rocket went to him.
    “Sorry, bro,” the right defenceman was saying to Rory. “I thought you had the puck. Honest.”
    “Stand back,” a linesman said to him.
    Rocket looked down at Rory’s face and saw something he never thought he’d see there — fear. It chilled Rocket to his core.
    A hand tugged on Rocket’s sweater.
    “You’re in the box for fighting, number 36,” a linesman said.
    “The guy submarined him at the knees!” Rocket said.
    The linesman began to push him toward the penalty box. For one insane moment, Rocket felt like pushing back. The defenceman who’d hit Rory was being directed to the Rams’ bench.
    “What about that guy? He went after his knee — on purpose,” Rocket said.
    The linesman didn’t react. He kept pushing Rocket to the penalty box.
    “Total garbage call!” Rocket was shouting. “He ends a guy’s career, and you give me a penalty? Stupidest call ever.”
    The door opened.
    “What about the third man in?” Rocket screamed. “Their left defenceman practically mugged me.”
    He turned his back on the linesman and stormed into the box and slammed the door shut. The glass around the box shook. The referee came over and opened the door.
    “You got a fighting major and an instigation penalty, and that little temper tantrum earned you a misconduct,” the referee said. “You’re done for the night.”
    Rocket leapt to his feet. “He went after Rory’s knee, on purpose. May as well give the Rams a couple of goals and get it over with. You obviously want them to win!”
    “Watch your mouth, rookie,” the referee snarled. He stepped closer. “I’m giving you a break because you’re a kid. You question my integrity again — ever — and every ref in this league will be on you. That’s a promise. So I advise you to shut it and get off the ice before I give your team a delay-of-game penalty.” He skated away.
    Rocket stepped back on the ice, in shock. Goldsy handed