“He tripped me! Hey, what the fuck, ref! That was tripping!” Shane glared up at the ref, and then at Ilya, who was looming over him in his Ottawa jersey. “You fell,” Ilya said. “I didn’t fall. It was tripping.” “Yes. Was you tripping over your own skates.” “Get fucked, Rozanov.” Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Was planning on it.”
