#score!

Nevermind that next week was home games against the fucking Chicago Bobcats, and he’d have to see fucking Nines again. That damned goalie was a machine, perfectly poised everytime. His team was 5-0. He’d already had a shutout this season. Reed wasn’t fucking going anywhere, but that damned Richard “Nines” Stern…

Reed snatched his stick from the bench next to him and sprang to his feet, hauling the stick upward and motioning like he was going to smash it against the bench. Remembering how much the fucking thing cost and his coach’s warning not to destroy another one, he grit his teeth instead and tossed the thing on top of his bag. He needed an outlet tonight; being cooped up in the hotel was not going to work for him. He felt ready to fight someone.

“Waiting on you.” A voice came from the doorway of the locker room. Leo Manfred – one of the people Reed could tolerate and who tolerated him.

“I’ll be right there, hold the fuck up.”

Leo snorted. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Oh I dunno, maybe just a four game losing streak?” Reed rolled his eyes and zippered his bag. “Wanna get a drink?”

“Or five. I’d like to forget the last week if we could.” Leo had his bag slung over his shoulder, hair slicked back with sweat from playing. “Definitely need a shower first.”

Reed nodded. He was no better off, shirt stuck to his back from the sweat. He was sure he stank something awful. Grabbing his helmet in one hand and tugging the rolling bag along with the rest of his goalie gear behind him, Reed followed Leo out to the bus. The last two on, and the others were quiet.

The silence of defeat.

Reed almost wished their Captain, Jefferey Fowler, would yell at them. Instead, Fowler sat with his head pressed into the seat in front of him, not looking at anyone. Annoyance, or maybe disappointment, rolled off of him as Reed passed by. 

He went all the way to the back and dropped his stuff in a seat before collapsing himself. The ride back to their hotel was short but uncomfortable. No one was in a good mood right now, and it was felt.

Chapter Two: Rivals

Richard Stern, better known to his team as Nines due to his jersey number 09, watched the Detroit Devils lose their fourth game in a row. They were starting the season rough, and a petty part of Nines was happy about it. His rivalry with Gavin Reed was strong after the years of competing with each other. And they were about to face each other again.

The Devils were going to be either wrung out or furious for a win. Nines hoped for furious. He had his eyes on moving up to the NHL, and he needed the practice and to stack his stats a bit more. Plus, he loved to see the anger in Reed post-games when Nines did a stellar job. He liked to make the man squirm.

Nines sank back on his couch and shut the tv off. He should get some sleep for tomorrow’s weight training and cardio session. 

Instead, he stayed on the couch scrolling his phone longer than he should have, thoughts taken up by the coming game and Reed. Nines had been slowly admitting to himself that Reed took up entirely too much of his thoughts lately, but it was still something he could shove down for now. Whatever his mind decided to do while he slept was out of his control though.

The next day, Nines used his cardio session to drive those thoughts into the ground. He focused on himself, on progress. Nines would be drafted next season or it would be the end of his career.

“Rich. Are you coming with us?” Connor, his brother, hung on the door frame and peered into the workout room where Nines was. 

Nines looked up from the weights he was racking with a frown. “What?”

“We’re heading out, getting food.”

“Who’s we?” Nines wasn’t sure he was feeling in the mood to be around a lot of the guys just now. They were a lot to deal with sometimes.

“Markus, North, and Luther so far. Shaolin and Rupert are a maybe.” Connor stepped further into the room and gave Nines the damned puppy-eyes he was so good at. They might have worked on other people, but Nines had grown up with his older brother, and he was an expert at ignoring the man.

Wiping sweat from his forehead. Connor somehow widened his eyes as he held up his hands in a begging prayer fashion. Nines shrugged, “Fine. Let me shower real quick.” Okay, maybe not an expert exactly.

The training facility had showers, ice baths, even a fucking sauna. They were lucky to share it with the more professional league above them. The Bobcats often used the resources, so long as they weren’t in the way of the NHL team. 

Nines showered, dressed, and found Connor texting in the hallway, waiting for him. “Ready?”

Looking up with a smile, Connor nodded, and they headed out. 

The tavern they went to was their normal haunt, just a small, local joint that likely stayed open thanks to the Bobcats’ patronage. The five of them smashed up against the bar and Nines found himself between North and Connor. 

“Bet you’re excited to see that asshole again,” North smirked at Nines, mischief in her eyes.

Nines frowned, but he knew exactly who she was talking about. They all did. It was rare for goalies to have a rivalry like this one, but Nines and Reed’s was well known. “One of these days, I’m crossing the ice to get my fight in.”

“Last year to do it.” North took a swig of her beer and shrugged. “You’re moving up next year.”

“Who says?” Nines snorted out a disbelieving breath. He picked at the salad in front of him.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Nines. You know you’re being watched. You’re the best goalie in the damned league.”

Nines couldn’t help the smirk in the corner of his lips. She wasn’t wrong. His numbers were proof enough of that, and he had this year to really pad that out. Of course, Gavin Reed was right behind him. “I can still fight in the higher leagues.”

“There’ve been what? Three goalie fights in the last twelve years?” North shook her head. “This isn’t the 1900’s, Nines.”

“Maybe it’s time for a revival.” Nines laughed, chugging down a good portion of his own beer.

“Focus on blocking shots, Richard,” Luther interjected, peering over North’s head. “We’re supposed to have a shot at the Calder Cup this year.” 

“I know what I’m doing.” Nines twirled his beer on the counter, trying not to think about a fist fight with Reed.

Luther reached around and clapped his shoulder. “I know you do, big guy. But uh, leave the fighting to me, maybe?”

“Ha!” Nines nudged North’s shoulder. “Nah, I leave it to her.”

“Fair enough. She’d take us all on if she could,” Luther said.

As North shot a fist out at Luther’s shoulder then Nines’s, they all laughed together, and some of Nines’s stress started to melt away. They stayed in the bar for a few hours, and eventually the others trickled in. Connor swindled them at pool, and Markus won at darts too many times to count. By the time they were headed out, Nines’s head was full of cotton and his steps staggered.

He felt warm. And ready for bed.

Chapter Three: Goalies

Reed pulled the helmet down over his face and grabbed his stick. It felt heavy in his hand tonight, and he knew it had everything to do with nerves. He led the Detroit Devils down the tunnel and toward the ice, his nervousness settling deep in his gut. This was not the right mindset to take to the ice with. 

Standing near the doors to go out, he shook his hands and took a slow, deep breath. A hand came down on his shoulder. Captain Fowler was right behind him and gripped his shoulder hard.

“We’ve got this, Reed. Just focus on the puck; get yourself in the way.” Fowler gave him a quick shake, then motioned for him to go. 

The announcer started the call and music for the Devils, and Reed hopped over the slight raise and onto the ice. As soon as his blades hit, a wave of calm washed over him. He knew his place here. Reed skated a large circle from half-ice to his net and tossed his water bottle on the top of the goal. 

Then he set about cutting up the crease. He had a pattern he preferred, a pass from right to left at the back of the crease, then left to right across the front, and a couple cuts at each top corner and back corner. He focused there as the Bobcats were called out, not trusting himself to not look up and seek out Nines across the rink.

  Once he was happy, Reed took his stance at the top of the crease, lowering his center of gravity, and finally looked up. Between the starting lines of skaters, he saw him. Richard “Nines” Stern, standing up straight in the middle of his crease, glove on the top of his stick and staring directly at Gavin. They couldn’t lock eyes, not this far apart, but he could tell Nines was looking at him specifically. Reed tipped his head up in greeting, fighting down the nervousness that tried to worm its way back in him. Nines returned the gesture.

Tina Chen and Leo Manfred skated over to where Reed was. They were his starting defense line and also two of Reed’s actual friends. 

“You doing okay there, Reed?” Leo asked.

“What about you?” Reed raised an eyebrow and gestured toward Markus Manfred, Leo’s half-brother on the other team. 

Leo scoffed. “Just fucking fine. Can’t wait to deny him a bunch of goals.”

“Damn straight. We got this,” Tina chuckled. 

“Right. Shut ‘em down tonight, boys.” Reed motioned for the two to head to center ice as the game was about to get started. While they skated off, Reed gave one last look at Nines and found the man going into his own crouch, attention now on the center circle where the first puck drop would happen.

Game on.

The first period of the game went pretty evenly; both teams had significant time in the other’s zone. Reed and Nines found themselves getting in a good workout of stopping pucks and interrupting plays. Keeping his weight forward, glove and blocker up, Reed was really working out his thighs today. He kept on the balls of his feet, sliding across as passes flew from one side of the net to the other, popping up in time to snatch a puck from the air or knock it away to his team with the blocker. Constant movement. Reed hadn’t been on his knees this much for a game in quite some time, and he watched Nines doing much of the same. 

And that was a bit of a problem. Reed watched Nines a lot during the game, and sometimes when he really shouldn’t be. As their top scorer, North, came skating down at him, Reed had been caught up watching how Nines had stolen and passed the puck from his crease to her. He watched as the man skated beyond the top of his crease and stood up tall, like some statuesque thing overseeing everyone else. Infuriating, the amount of confidence, the gall of playing outside his position.

And Reed was so caught up on that that when Connor Stern swooped in, taking a pass from North, he was off balance. Reed watched him wind up for a slapshot and knew this one was going to hurt, but he had to stop it. He dropped down into an awkward half-butterfly, one of his off-balance skates catching weirdly on the ice, as Connor swung through his shot, and he tried to track the puck into his glove. 

Connor had tipped it upward, though. It wouldn’t hit center mass as he’d hoped, and Reed stretched his hand out to catch it in the corner. He was too slow. The puck slipped by his glove and Connor’s shot hit the bar and ducked down into the net. A bardown was hard to stop.

The horns went off, red lights rotating, signaling a goal. 

Reed had fucked up.

Feeling heat over his cheeks and the tips of his ears, Reed cursed at himself. He turned away from his defensemen and took a swig of the water from the top of his net. Forty seconds left in the first, and he’d let in the first goal of the game. Fuck. They were going to lose again. He wanted to turn and scream at his team, to ask how Connor even got into the position of being able to take such a big shot. But he couldn’t form words beyond cursing.

Andronikov and Allen, the current two defensemen on the ice, heard the words spilling from him and quickly skated back toward center, forgoing any apologies or encouragement. The teams set up, and they fucked around with the puck until the clock called an end to the first period. 

Reed skated hard for the lockers, coming close enough to Nines to be able to speak before they left the ice. “The fuck was that, coming nearly to half-ice, you dipshit?” Reed chirped at him.

Nines pulled his helmet off and grinned. “Didn’t like that? It was a good play, and it paid off.” The man’s hair was perfect, swept back with a touch. He didn’t look bad, even sweating.

“You’re a goalie, not a forward. Act like one.” Reed gripped the stick in his hand tighter, feeling the leather of his blocker creak under his hand.

With a laugh, Nines skated a little closer. Their teammates were hesitating at the gates, and one of the linesmen hung back to make sure nothing was about to happen between them. 

“Aren’t goalies supposed to stop shots, Reed? Take your own advice.”

“Oh fuck you, asshole.”

“You wish.” Nines waved his helmet at Reed, then headed for the gates to his locker room.

Firing off a few more curses, Reed finally skated for his team’s side. He was fuming, and everyone just stayed out of his way. Reed barely paid attention to the pep talk they were getting from Fowler in the locker room. He was more focused on what Nines had said, the bastard. 

Aren’t goalies supposed to stop shots…

The words circled in his head, and Reed felt like this season was being pissed away. He didn’t know what it was about these last few games, but the closer he got to needing to be moved up, the worse he seemed to be doing. Performance issues… or something in the back of his mind telling him he wasn’t meant to move up; he’d found his place here, and he’d never go any higher than this. 

The second period was aggressive on both sides, but it was the Bobcats who couldn’t keep up with the fighting. Some of their players went down, some of the Devils were tossed in the bin, but the scorers were stepping up. Anderson, Fowler, and Kamski made play after play against Nines, and it was paying off. Three goals in, and barely half the period had passed.

Reed was excited, and confused. It was like something in Nines snapped after the first goal was scored. His movements got jerky after that, questioning. Reed watched him carefully, seeing the tracking as he turned his head with the puck, but missed the set up of Kamski to one side or Anderson coming right up the middle at him. Nines went to his knees when he should have pressed to the post. He dove left and created a large opening to the right of the net. 

Frowning, Reed watched as the fourth goal was scored. He glanced at the Bobcat’s bench. Their coach didn’t look happy, and even some of the players were antsy, banging sticks on the boards to try and rally their goalie. Something was up, Reed thought, but it was to his advantage so he needed not to think about it too much. 

This time, as they skated away at the end of the second period, Reed didn’t chirp at Nines. There was nothing to say; they’d gotten the score to 1-6, and Nines knew as well as anyone, better than, that he was at fault here.

When Reed came back out for the third period, it wasn’t Nines in goal any longer. Their second goalie, Ralph Vladimery, was carving up the ice as Reed did his own dance. Interesting. 

Reed managed to keep his mind in the game, and the Devils finally took another win, but afterwards, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nines and what went wrong. He’d been so confident at the end of the first period… It wasn’t Reed’s business no matter how curious he was.

Chapter Four: Shoot Out

“Great job out there, Con!” Markus clapped Connor on the back, glancing over Nines like he wasn’t standing next to his brother.

As their other teammates came in, they clapped North and Connor on the backs as well, congratulating the goal they made together. Someone, Nines wasn’t sure who as it happened too fast, gave his helmet a pat in passing as well. And it all grated on his nerves. Sure, the forwards had gotten a goal in, but Nines was the reason the score was still 1-0. He’d kept the Devils’ goals out.

“Yeah good job golden boy,” Nines growled as he thumped down onto the bench at his spot. He pulled his catcher and blocker off, flexing his hands and getting some air on them. He’d been thinking about getting gloves to wear beneath to keep the sweat from making his hand slip in the soft leather of the hockey glove and blocker.

Connor sat next to him and elbowed him. “What’s the matter with you, Rich?”

“Nothing. I’m doing fucking great out there.”

“You are!” Connor said in a bright tone. 

It wasn’t mocking, not really, but Nines was already feeling some sort of way about things and it rubbed over his nerves like sandpaper. “Fuck off.” 

He grabbed a cloth to wipe down the plastic dangler, condensation from his heavy breathing fogging it over. It didn’t really affect his sight, but it still bothered him none-the-less. And it gave him something to do with his hands.

“Alright, for real, what’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem! Go pal around with your friends and let me focus,” Nines snapped.

“Boys,” Markus interrupted in a drawn out almost sing-song tone. “We’re having a great run at the Devils; let’s not turn on each other and lose it here.”

Nines rolled his eyes and went back to equipment checking. Markus took that as good enough and started in with a pep-talk. North interrupted with a few cheers to really get them all going. And still, Nines kept to himself. 

Back on the ice for the next period, Nines sunk into position and watched the players skate around. He should have been watching the puck more closely, but his attention kept straying to his teammates. Annoyance built in his head, distracting him.

Nines needed to do better. The argument with Connor between periods was what really set it all off. An off-hand comment turned to something more. Because that’s how they were, the brothers, argumentative and competitive. Nines didn’t want to admit how much of that was his own fault; second-born and infinitely jealous. 

Connor was just so affable. Everyone liked him no matter where he went, and he’d moved teams a few times as he found his groove. Nines on the other hand had difficulty fitting in with anyone, even this team with which he’d spent the last couple years.

Reed’s words hadn’t helped much, telling him he wasn’t a forward. Nines knew that, and he didn’t want to be a forward, didn’t want to be what his brother was. Nines was his own person, and he was good at goal. Not that this second period proved that.

When Nines was pulled, he was tempted to stay in the locker room, to feign being sick. But he owed his team better. That’s what good teammates did, right? So he sat on the bench and cheered Rupert on. Vladimery didn’t let a single other shot in, but neither did Reed. 

The Bobcats lost, 1-6. It was a bad game, and it was Nines’s fault.

At the next pre-game practice, Nines kept his head down. He wasn’t sure he’d be put in to start like was originally planned. He wanted another shot, but he wouldn’t blame anyone if they decided to keep Vladimery in goal for now. They didn’t want another round of last night’s mess. 

But Nines proved himself in the net at practice. He kept his thoughts from Connor, and focused on what was important. He would need to correct those points lost yesterday if he wanted to keep his save average high for the next season’s draft. There were retirements happening in the NHL this year, and a few of them were goalies. New blood was needed for the higher league, and Nines was determined to be one of them. 

Glancing across the ice as their minutes dwindled down, Nines caught Reed looking his way. They both stood still, locked in some sort of assessing stare down. It was Reed who broke first, giving an uplifted head nod to Nines. He returned the gesture and sank back down into position, tapping his stick to the goal post to assure he was situated correctly. 

Reed was gunning for the same thing Nines was, and that definitely built some of the fire between them. As Nines caught a puck, knocked another away, and reset himself for the team’s next game, he wondered how well Reed got along with people. There was a sort of stereotype about how odd goalies were, and maybe this struggle with personal connections wasn’t something that just Nines had trouble with.

The Bobcats created a half-circle around the net, and Nines locked in. The last part of practice was always the roughest, and this would be where he would prove he was capable of being on the starting ice. Nines sank down and angled his glove hand high, ready.

The scoreboard read 3-3 as the buzzer for end of period three went off. A tie meant they were going into overtime: two seven-minute periods with only three skaters per team until one team got a goal. And if that didn’t happen, a shootout. Nines hadn’t been in a shootout in over a year, and he really hoped they wouldn’t have one today. While he was confident enough, he didn’t like that sort of risk.

Three on three was rough for the players. There was a lot more movement, and they tired much faster. Nines felt tired just watching them. But he felt like he himself was getting off easy. The Bobcats were better at keeping control with fewer people on the ice than the Devils were. It was their precision. While the Bobcats attempted more puck handling and passing, the Devils weren’t afraid to play dirty, unthinking of how it might hurt their own players in the process. Foolhardy, Nines would describe it. And the Bobcats were able to dance around them, keeping the puck down toward Reed.

That man was working his ass off as North, Connor, and Markus drilled play after play and shot after shot at him. Each round of fresh players only kept the puck further in their end, and Reed was up and down like a man praying in a Catholic church. Nines was honestly impressed. 

But he did a damn good job, and so the first overtime passed without a goal. As they went into the second overtime round, Nines was ready for it all to be over. He wanted to go home, get some food, and relax. His mind was too full of bullshit, and this game was not helping it.

The rest of the Bobcats were slowing down, too. Nines saw more action this time, and he fought through the haze building in his head to help his team. He would not let them down again, not like yesterday. He was better than that. 

When the buzzer went off again and still neither had scored, Nines felt his chest tighten. Shootout.

It was a good chance to show off his skills, but he knew the Devils had some good forwards to contend with. He especially didn’t want to go up against Kamski, who had a penchant for being tricky. But of course, that’s who they put him up against first. 

Nines had enough time to get water, stretch out some kinks, then he was put in the goal and pitted against Kamski. He watched his skates more than the stick. He was looking for a sign of a quick shift in direction. And he saw it. A sudden push off one foot at the last second, and Nines dove, stretching his glove along the bottom of the goal, kicking a foot up, and trying to put his blocker over as much of the corner of the goal as he could. 

The puck hit his blocker, bounced down, and Nines closed his glove over it on the ice. Kamski had failed. 

Now it was one of the Bobcat’s turns to try against Reed. They pulled North from the bench, and Nines smiled. She didn’t have tricks like Kamski; she had strength. She was no nonsense and hit the puck hard. 

Having a break and needing relief from the heavy pads, Nines lounged back against his goal with his elbows on the top bar. The goal held the weight of the gear, and he watched as North set up. Reed looked ready, slight movement on his skates, hand poised to catch the puck. While part of Nines wanted Reed to miss so the game would be over, another part of him felt bad and didn’t want to see the other goalie fail. 

What he wanted didn’t matter. North skated in fast and slapped the puck into a corner, Reed unable to stop it in time. The buzzer rang out, the lights flashed, and the game was over. Bobcats won.

Nines’s team spilled from the bench, and they all swarmed North, congratulating her with hugs and cheers. Then they turned to Nines and yanked him down for congratulations as well. He’d stopped some good shots. He’d stopped Kamski. They each dragged him for head-butts and victory pats; he had done well.

They pulled apart to shake hands with the Devils, and tried to make quick work of it considering how temperamental the others seemed. Nines was at the end of the line as Reed was at the end of his, and as they came up to each other, the tension burst. 

“Not so hot with the one-on-one, huh Reed?”

“Says the guy who couldn't keep a puck out to save his life yesterday.” Reed sneered. “Quite a gangbang, Nines.”

“Come closer, Reed. I'll kick your ass.” Nines grinned back, knowing they wouldn't fight now. The teams would hold them back. But he knew he could get Reed fired up anyway, and it was too amusing to watch.

Nines did not think Reed would react like he did; the man shoved through his teammates, trying to launch himself at Nines. His face was red, teeth bared. He was looking for a fight. The teams didn't allow it, though. Reed’s people grabbed him, and Nines’s team stepped in between, North putting a hand on Nines’s shoulder. 

“Forget him. We won, and we'll kick their asses next time, too,” North said with a chuckle. 

Nines let himself be pulled away, glancing back to see Reed being pushed down the hall by his Captain. Reed's temper was…interesting.

Chapters 5-9