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Summary
“Shit. Am I benched?” Marleau huffed out a humorless laugh and held up his hands in protest, a silent plea to his captain to have mercy on his standing for the remainder of their season. But Ilya didn’t move, his jaw clenching so hard it was making his molars ache. “Man, I'm fucking benched aren't I?” Cliff's tone switched slightly, more anger there now as Ilya stood, stone faced.
Ilya was still unsure of what exactly his plan was now that he was here, now that he was face to face with his best friend who he'd never even been angry with - annoyed maybe, but never angry. Never this. But now Ilya looked at Cliff and all he could see was Shane's head being forced in an unnatural direction and the sound of his body hitting the ice like lead.
“Come on, Rozzy, you can't be serious. They're going to bench me right before play-offs? It's not my fault that Hollander had his fucking head down!”
Well, that was a mistake.