For emilia_laas :)
"Jack, you can't say no to Harvard."
I get up from the uncomfortable chair in high school advisor's office and say quietly: "Fine."
"Fine? So that means you are accepting Harvard's offer?"
With my hand already on the door knob, I turn to him and smirk: "I am saying no to Harvard."
March 26th 1976
After graduating high school, I declined Harvard's offer and ended up playing for Boston University. And wearing a Terrier on my chest has always been and will always be an honor. Now, I am a freshman at the BU and tonight's game is the last one in the best-of-seven series against University of Minnesota. Tonight's game will decide who is advancing to the finals and who is the sore loser of the tournament.
"Hey, OCee, ready for tonight's game?" Chris Bannerman, at the age of 23 one of the oldest guys on the team, smacks back of my head as he walks past me on the bus.
"More than you are, old man," I grin, revealing a few missing teeth.
"Your chick coming too?" Bob Boileau, center from freshman year, shouts from his seat and turns to me. Sending a slight glare in his direction, I roll my eyes: "You seem a bit too obsessed with my girl, Boil."
"You should be afraid."
"Of you? Please, I know she has an excellent taste in men."
"By choosing scars and missing teeth over me? I don't think so."
"Well, at least that proves I play hockey. And that I play rough."
"When with her? I have never seen you play a rough game out there."
"Don't you dare pulling Y/N into this, don't you fucking dare," I am on my feet, my hands curved into fists. He does the same, smirking from few feet away: "I thought you were a tough guy, but you are as soft as Minnesotans when we talk about your girl."
"What's your problem, man? Why are you so fucking obsessed with my girlfriend, huh?"
"Maybe because she is easy and she would go with anyone?"
Shaking from barely contained rage, I grab the back rest of a seat in front of mine: "You are lying. You fucking Canadian prick!"
"Jack! Sit down!" Bannerman grabs me by my shoulders and pushes me back on my seat. By sitting next to me, he makes sure I would have to climb over his 6'0 feet tall figure to get to Boileau.
"Let me get to that piece of ass, Banner, he insulted my girlfriend!"
"JACK! Sit down!"
"Isn't that something you do best? Screwing easy girls?" Boileau huffs and that tips me off. I nearly jump over Banner's knees and pull him up by his shirt: "Say that again, you little fuck. Say that again and I swear I will fucking kill you before you step on the ice."
He smacks my hand away and brings his face inches away from mine: "Can't handle the truth, that even a player like you can be cheated on?"
"You are fucking dead right now," I take a swing to his head and soon my knuckles connect with his jaw. His head snaps slightly back at the hit, but he won't back away now. Two strong blows to my nose are enough for my nose to start bleeding and I know if he hits me one more time, he can break my nose. I have seen him break noses of other players in two accurate blows to the head. I dodge his next hit and connect my fist with his chin. His blood colors my knuckles red as I punch his chin open. Before they pull us away, he manages to hit me right above my eyebrow and cuts the tissue open with his high school championship ring. Warm blood starts dripping down my face, slightly blurring my vision and painting my surroundings slightly red.
"I will kill you next time."
"Jack, stop it," Marc Hetnik pushes me on an unoccupied seat. He sits down next to me: "Knock it off, man."
"I think I have already proved you can't stop me by sitting next to me."
"What is with you and Boileau? You should get along, you are teammates."
"I don't like him. He is a Canadian and he stole a spot from probably a great American kid. Not to mention, he apparently keeps drooling over Y/N."
"So you really have a girlfriend?"
"It's hard to say now, we have hooked up a few times."
"You called her your girlfriend a few times...and if she is only a hookup, why did you explode like that?"
"I don't know. Can we drop it now?" I groan, leaning my head back as I notice blood painting my tracksuit red and small drops slowly drying on fabric.
"Whatever you say man."
Nearly thirty hours later, we arrive to University of Denver, a host of our semifinals. I notice the bus with the U's team is already here, including their fans. Speaking of fans... Y/N said she would come to the game, but she was still in class when he left Boston.
"O'Callahan!" Coach Parker shakes me awake from my day dreaming. Just as I take a step towards the arena, some flashy-looking car stops on the parking lot. I don't know why, but it grabs my attention. Which I wish it didn't as I see Y/N step out of the car. But only after some guy holds the door open for her. It takes a second for her to notice me, she appears to be too focused on her driver.
"Jackie?"
"Surprised to see me here?"
"Not at all!" she runs to me and hugs me tight. Still not being able to forget what I saw only a few seconds earlier, I don't hug her back. She looks up at me, her smile deflating by every passing second: "Aren't you happy to see me here? I flew all the way from Boston, skipped some of my classes to be able to be here..."
"It's...nice to see you here, I guess."
"Y/N/N, see you in there, okay?" her partner calls her and waves at me. She nods with a bright smile: "Sure, Joey. Thanks for a lift."
The way they smile at each other makes my blood boil. As soon as the "Joey" guy disappears in the arena, I turn to her, arms crossed on my chest: "Joey, huh?"
"You know Joe Micheletti, right?"
"Why should I know him?"
"He is one of the Gophers..."
"Oh, I see. Well, I hope this Micheletti guy likes to date non-virgins from Boston then."
With those words I leave her and head in the arena, my hands still clenched into fists. My stomping echoes through the empty halls and before entering the locker room, I take a deep breath. There is no use in being furious before stepping on the ice and give that Gopher a good lesson or two.
"Hey, OCee, what's wrong with you? You look like you are going to rip someone's head off..."
"I will. Some Micheletti dude is apparently banging Y/N."
"You have any proof?"
I turn to Mike Fidler, my teammate who has been on the team since last season, my vision now blurry from rage, which is returning over again.
"If you saw them, you would never doubt."
"See, I was right?" Boil chuckles from his stall. I turn to him and smile a bit: "Want to have another bruise on your chin? Maybe a bloodied nose? I can help you with that."
"Why don't you show your muscles to your chick then?"
"Jack, no. Don't. We don't need that before the game."
"But you better not stop me when the puck drops."
After coach Parker's pep talk, we head on the ice, serious army of twenty-something players dressed in red as the blood which will most probably paint the ice tonight. It's the last game of the semifinals and tonight, everything is on the line. As soon as my blades hit the ice, I check for a guy with Micheletti on his back. Doesn't take long for me to see him, number 3 chatting with his teammate, a guy with Verchota and number 12 on his back. I stop next to Mike Fidler and place hand on his shouder: "Hey, will you help me take number 3 out?"
"Sure, but why me?"
"Because, you and I and Grypie lead in penalty minutes. Hell, man, you even have more penalites than I do."
"Jack, I have too much penalties..."
"Come on, how could additional two minutes hurt you? Or five? Come on, Fiddy."
"Why don't you ask Grypie? I know he is after fresh blood."
"He is one of the elders on the team. Come on."
"How the hell do you always persuade people, O'Callahan?"
"My devilish charm."
~~
When the whistle blows, the hell breaks loose. Not even a minute in the game Terry Meagher, Terrier's player, is sent to the penalty box for slashing and only thirty seconds later, Gophers' Russ Anderson occupies the Minnesota's penalty box. When Meagher is taken to the penalty box, one of the Minnesota's player spits upon the Terrier, who returns the favor. During this time, Gopher's trainer Gary Smith gets hit and that leads to the fight. Jack O'Callahan takes the opportunity and jumps on Micheletti without getting too much attention. Not expecting an attack from behind, he stumbled forward before regaining balance. Somehow, he manages to get Jack off his back: "What is your problem?"
"You like second-hand things, don't you, rich boy?"
It's obvious the Gopher is not looking for a fight, but being called a rich boy is too much. He drops his gloves and growls: "Say that again!"
"You like second-hand things, rich boy? Did you hear me this time?"
Needless to say, a brawl broke out between the two angered players and cheap shots were thrown left and right. Two hot heads exchanged countless harsh words, not only punches. And the ice around them...it was a hell on earth. It took about ten minutes before the refs managed to restore the order. Not only that, two officials, Dino Paniccia and Frank Kelley, had to skate into a dressing room for a meeting with other officials and coaches.
With Meagher, BU lost to University of Minnesota with a score of 4 to 2, ending the path to the title of national champions. But that was not the worst part, Jack O'Callahan's faith in his girlfriend was weak and he didn't get any closures. Until he stepped out of the locker room...
~~
I step out of the locker room, holding an ice pack to my swelled eye and bloodied nose, when I see her leaning on the wall. She looks at me and heads towards me: "We need to talk."
"We don't have to."
"Listen to me, you jerk. The guy you decided to take out is my distant cousin. And thanks to you, he was taken to a hospital. I hope you are happy now."
"Your cousin? You have relatives in Richland?"
"Not everyone in Minnesota is rich. Stop with your stupid Boston snobby attitude and look around yourself!"
Suddenly, I feel tiredness wash over me and I am not in the mood to deal with her critics: "Can't this wait until we get back?"
"Yes, it can. Apparently everything has to wait until Jack O'Callahan is ready to deal with it," she huffs and turns around. I remain on my spot before one of the guys (I don't even know, who it was), smacks my shoulder: "Come on, OC, we have a thirty-hour drive ahead of us."
"Yeah... let's go."
As I sit on the bus, I realize one thing. How much it meant to me having her close, on the stands, and how stupid was of me never to show her that.
Part 2?