Tiger Threat Read Online Free Page B

kicked the puck ahead, squeezing along the boards until he
    was free. I should have been in closer. Then I could have given him a hip or shoulder check to knock him off the puck. Instead I was too far away to stop him and too close to get back to the slot and help out the other defense.
    He made a hard pass. I feebly waved my stick as it zipped past me. I was able to half turn to watch the progress of the puck. It snapped between our other defenseman’s legs and onto Tidwell’s stick.
    He banged it high, over the goalie’s shoulder. Just like that, we were down 1–0.
    Tidwell raised his arms, wheeling in a tight circle. His eyes met mine. He grinned. He made sure he skated past me.
    â€œNice try, little girl,” he said. “Want to drop the gloves now?”
    I knew what he was doing. He was trying to intimidate me. I didn’t want to be honest with myself. I didn’t want to admit it was working.
    The crowd was quiet as our line skated off the ice.
    I stepped into the players’ box, looking for a place to hide. It didn’t do any good.
    Coach Thomas paced down the bench behind the players. He put a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed hard, and it felt like an eagle’s claw.
    â€œRay, look at me.”
    I didn’t want to, but I did.
    He leaned in close so that the other players couldn’t hear.
    â€œLooks like you’re not leading the way,” he said.
    â€œI thought I had a chance of chipping the puck loose,” I said. “We could have moved the puck out and—”
    â€œOne thing I hate worse than gutless players,” he said, still speaking low, “and that’s gutless players who make excuses.”
    He stared into my eyes. “No excuses, Ray. Got that?”
    I blinked. “Got it.”
    â€œNo ice time either,” he said. “Unless you play it my way. Understand?”
    He squeezed my shoulder harder and continued. “If you’re not in the corners, you’re not in the game. Understand?”
    Slowly, very slowly, I nodded.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I understand.”
    He walked away, leaving me to dread my next shift.

chapter eight
    For the next two minutes of the game, I hoped for a leg cramp. Vomiting. Another fire to empty the arena. Anything that would delay my turn to go back onto the ice for another shift.
    None of that happened.
    The Tigers were still down the goal that had been my fault, when the linesman called an offside against the Hurricanes. That meant my line was supposed to go back onto the ice.
    I flexed my leg, testing it for the slightest sign of a cramp. Nothing.
    I wondered if anyone would notice if I put my finger down my throat to make me throw up. Decided it would be too obvious.
    I scanned the rink for smoke. Nope.
    All of this meant I didn’t have a choice. It was back onto the ice. I skated slowly to our blue line to line up for the face-off against Joe Tidwell. He bumped into me. Not hard enough to get a penalty. But hard enough that I knew it wasn’t an accident.
    I’d been dealing with this for two seasons. My passing and skating and stickhandling skills were better than most in the league. I knew the word was out that the best way to stop me was to play physical hockey against me. Every game, this kind of stuff happened.
    But I still found ways to make plays. I had plenty of assists and goals. I just wasn’t a fighter or physical player myself. It hadn’t mattered whether I bumped back or dropped my gloves, as long as my line was producing points.
    Until Coach Thomas. And this game.
    So I bumped Tidwell back.
    His head whipped around. He was as surprised as I was.
    â€œWhat?” he said. “Mama’s boy wants some action?”
    I kept skating, although I knew he wanted to drop the gloves and fight. I took my position at the face-off. I didn’t feel any better about myself for bumping him back, not when it had given him a chance to challenge me like