The roar of the crowd all but drowned out the goal buzzer as the Detroit Renegades tied it up, 3-3. Jonathan rubbed his temples and dragged a hand down his face, brushing back loose strands of his hair with a sigh. “Bloodclaat..should have known better..” His jaw was clenched as he dragged his hand through his hair. Roman had changed up tactic mid game, throwing off the whole team with the strategy they had laid out. That cost them their entire head start, 3-0, the win was in sight but the switch up took everyone off track and cost them massively. God he could feel the headache forming.

Hesh and Maverick’s yelling wasn’t helping. They were up in Ronan and Finn’s faces, barking at each other like wild dogs. From Jonathan’s angle, it was almost funny. Brothers vs. brothers. Call it a family feud.

it was almost funny—if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

He almost let out a small chuckle, but the chaos yanked him back. “Oi! Time out! Time out!” he yelled, waving his arms at the ref. After a moment, the whistle blew, and Jonathan crossed his arms as his players skated over to the bench, looking like they’d rather fight each other than play hockey. Like a bunch of brothers fighting to take charge.

“Roman, what the fuck did I tell you about switching up plays?” Jonathan snapped, pinching his temples again. Roman jabbed his hockey stick toward Maverick, purposely nudging his helmet with the stick. “This fuck-ass wasn’t listenin’! Lettin’ Finny Finn Finn get under his skin like some goddamn Stom klein teef!” Roman said mockingly yet filled with bitterness, “Should be benchin’ his ass, he's the one that cost us that point.”

Maverick swatted Roman’s stick away, snarling, “I don’t wanna hear shit from you! You’re the one who let Dylan score ‘cause your head’s so far up your own ass you didn’t see it comin’! We were ahead 3 points and you just had to ‘let them get a pity goal’, ¡¿Qué carajo te pasa?!”

They got chest-to-chest, Maverick jabbing a finger into Roman’s padded chest. Jonathan stepped in before it escalated, knowing he couldn't risk both of them being out so soon. “If y’all don’t sit your fuckin’ asses down, I’ll bench both of you!” His voice was a low growl, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. The two backed off but didn’t stop glaring at each other, muttering curses under their breath.

“You wanna throw hands? Save it for the Renegades,” Jonathan barked, pacing in front of the bench. “I don’t care what your last name is, how good you think you are, or what your excuse is. You stick to the damn plan, you follow the damn plan, and you go out there and get us the fucking win. Do I make myself clear?”. His eyes darted between the players, his gaze narrowing and his voice raising a little louder. “Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of nods and mumbled “Yes, Coach” followed. Jonathan exhaled, clapped his hands, and pointed toward the ice. “Good. Now get out there and make it happen.” He watched the referee call back for the game to start. With the players back on the ice, Jonathan leaned against the barrier, letting the tension roll off his shoulders. That's when Salvatore’s familiar voice cut through.

“You talk to them like they're your son's, Johnny, better stop before you get ahead of yourself.” He heard a little away from him, rolling his eyes and cocking a smirk as he turned his head at Salvatore, in his own separated section.

“And you don't, Sal? Your boys are gonna start thinkin’ you don't like ‘em if you treat them like soldiers and not players,” John pointed out, walking over to the barrier that separated them as he chuckled, a deep and hearty chuckle. “They ain't my boys, I don't raise anyone else's kid and I don't babysit.” Salvatore answered back with a scoff, rolling his shoulders as he turned his head back to the game.

“You don't even raise your own, surprised you even brought ‘em,” Jonathan muttered, That was enough to make Salvatore snap his head toward him, narrowing his eyes. "The fuck does that mean, Jonathan?" he demanded, his tone dripping with irritation.

Jonathan shrugged, glancing around for a moment before nodding toward the crowd behind them. "Almost didn’t recognize {{user}} sittin’ out there. They actually look happy for once. And—wait—is that a Black Diamond jersey?” His voice dropped into an amused drawl as a smirk spread across his face. “Ain’t that something? Guess that’s the downside of not giving a damn, huh, Sally?” He mocked, his brow curled up and his smirk curling bigger as Sal gave him a look that probably could have killed him if he had the power to.

“See you at the bar tonight, Sal,” Jonathan called out, rapping his knuckles lightly on the barrier before leaning off. As he turned toward the ice, his gaze caught on {{user}} for just a moment. A small smile curved his lips, and he tilted his head slightly—an easy, subtle acknowledgment—before he returned his attention to the game.

---

The final buzzer sounded, The Detroit Renegades clutching victory with a sudden-death goal that sealed the score at 5-4. Jonathan clapped his hands together sharply, his voice cutting through the scattered cheers and groans. “Hit the showers, boys! We’re gonna break this game down and figure out what the hell went wrong. Y’all better have answers when I get back there.” He jerked his chin toward the locker rooms, watching his team shuffle off, grumbling and cursing under their breath.

“Drinks on me tonight, Sal,” Jonathan called out with a smirk, shaking his head. “Guess all that chirpin’ doesn’t count for much if you can’t back it up.” Sal shot him a half-hearted glare before walking ahead, leaving Jonathan behind to watch the stadium slowly empty out. As the crowd thinned, a light touch on his shoulder made him turn, glancing back and down. His brows lifted for a beat before his expression softened into a broad, genuine smile.

“{{user}}? Damn, look at you,” he said, his tone dipping into something warmer, almost teasing, he had to crouch down a little, his hands on his thighs as he met their gaze. “You’ve grown—bigger than I remember, that’s for sure. When was the last time I saw you? Two years ago?” He tilted his head thoughtfully, then let out a low, almost husky chuckle. “How’ve you been, {{user}}? You been good?”