Puck Me Behind The Mask

Kyler

The air inside this giant, bear head smells like fifteen years of unwashed sweat and my own suffocating devotion. I adjusted the thick rubber neck of the mask, pressing my face closer to the tiny mesh mouth screen. Honestly, if this game doesn’t wrap up in the next ten minutes, I might pass out from heat stroke.

“Go Bears!” I shrieked. Inside the mask, it was a desperate plea for air. To the stadium, it came out as a cheerful, high-pitched mascot squeak.

Zeke—my gorgeous, perfect Red—skated past the glass. He bowed dramatically, blowing kisses into the bleachers for the screaming, mindless people in the front rows. My eye twitched. Look at them, waving their greasy little hands. I swear, the urge to climb over the glass and bite someone was getting harder to suppress by the day.

“Go Bearsss!!!” I screamed, throwing my heavy, padded foam body against the plexiglass right as he passed.

Look at the bear, Zeke.

He didn't even blink. He just tore past, his eyes locked entirely on the puck. Not a single lick of attention for me. Rejection hurts, but it’s okay, we’re working on it.

Suddenly, the horn blared, and the next period kicked off. Within three seconds, a defenseman from the opposing team, a literal human hulk whose mother clearly raised him on a diet of raw bricks, deliberately veered out of his lane. He lowered his shoulder and slammed directly into my Red.

The sound of Zeke hitting the boards made my own ribs ache. He fell to the ice with a loud, breathless groan.

My vision instantly went red. My massive mascot paws came up, claws digging into my own fake fur. I was two seconds away from vaulting the barrier and using my oversized plastic prop hockey stick to smash that hulk’s face into the ice like a carnival game.

A sharp tug at my hip ruined my murderous fantasy. I snapped my head down. A toddler was standing there, her nose running a literal marathon, her face a sticky, tear-soaked mess. She pointed a trembling finger at the merchandise rack behind me.

I love kids, for no reason in particular, which is weird. I forced my heavy body into a bouncy, exaggerated happy dance, snatched a miniature jersey, and draped it over her tiny shoulders. She stopped crying, smiled, and offered me a dollar bill...along with a half-eaten lollipop straight from her mouth.

Okay, that’s gross, but I took it anyway. Then dropped the candy into my secret suit pocket, right next to the stolen roll of Zeke’s discarded grip tape.

I brought my furry paws to my mouth to look cute. The girl giggled, digging into her skirt for more bribes, before her mother rushed over, murmuring frantic apologies and dragging the biohazard away. I offered a slow, robotic wave.

The second they turned around, my head whipped back to the rink.

Zeke was pushing himself up. His left hand twitched, pressing briefly against his lower ribs before he forced his posture straight. He was pretending he was fine.

Over the PA system, the announcer made some crude, laughing remark about Zeke getting caught off guard. The crowd actually laughed.

Fucking casuals. The whole lot of them.

I hoisted my massive, custom-made banner high above my heavy bear head, doing a ridiculous, rhythmic mascot dance to get the crowd going. The banner didn't even say Go Bears. In massive, glittering red letters, it spelled out his last name: MCKINNEY.

In my defense, he is our star player. I shook my furry hips and waved the canvas until my shoulders burned, trying to project my entire soul across the ice.

Zeke was at the bench, getting yelled at by the Coach. A teammate reached out to pat his shoulder to comfort him, but he violently shoved the hand away and skated back out. That made a smile form on my lips.

The final minutes were pure chaos. Zeke played like a man possessed, driving the puck down the line and firing a beautiful, brutal shot right into the back of the net. The red light flashed. A goal!

But as the buzzer sounded, that same hulking defenseman slithered up behind him, delivering a cheap, vicious cross-check right to Zeke's injured ribs. The guy mumbled something, probably a fake apology.

Zeke didn't wait for the referees. He completely exploded. With a feral yell, he delivered a sharp, blinding punch that sent the guy’s helmet flying across the ice. Before anyone could stop him, his bare fist connected directly with the defenseman's nose, painting the ice a lovely shade of crimson.

The arena went absolutely berserk. Referees swarmed him, dragging his thrashing body away while the announcer’s voice boomed: "And McKinney takes his anger out on a defenseless player!"

More like a defenseless defenseman. They're so fucking dense. I should go take out that announcer out. Half the crowd started booing him. The other half tried to cheer. Maybe I should add this crowd to the list of people to take out.

None of them cared that his ribs were probably fractured. None of them cared that he carried this pathetic team on his back. They just wanted a show, and the moment he gave them one, they judged him.

Honestly? I am more than happy to be the only person left in Zeke's fan club. If the entire world abandons him, he'll finally have no choice but to look at me. Besides, the thought of him having other admirers gives me a headache anyway.

I shuffled quickly toward the tunnel exit as he approached the bench. God, he looked absolutely magnificent when he was throwing a tantrum. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, and those faint, delicate freckles across his nose looked so incredibly pretty against his flushed, furious skin. His nostrils flared with every ragged breath. Sexy. Very sexy.

A teammate stepped into his path, clearly trying to say something to calm him down. Zeke didn't even hesitate, he shoved the guy violently against the concrete wall and stormed straight into the dark corridor leading to the locker rooms. Away from the cameras. Away from the crowd.

Well...I lowered my banner, letting the heavy wood rest against the floor. My heart was hammering a frantic, stupid rhythm against my ribs. Time for Barnaby the Bear to go check on his favorite person.