Page 7 of Penalty to the Heart

And it would serve everyone well to remember it.

I am chaos and destruction.

On and off the ice.

I’m back to standing in the crease, pulling my focus back on the game when the so-called hotshot forward comes barreling towards me. He’s got a chip on his shoulder after I made a complete fool of him—twice—and is looking to create a little bit of trouble of his own.

Good thing that trouble is exactly what I’m in the mood for tonight.

As he gets closer, I can see the heightened rage in his eyes, challenging me. I’m so fucking ready to take him on and show him who’s boss that I’m practically salivating.

Yeah, that’s it.

Come at me, motherfucker.

I dare you.

Unfortunately for me, Nate beats him to the punch, placing his body right in between us.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Nate shouts at me, grabbing the titanium bars of my visor and giving it a shake to snap me out of my ravenous fog.

“Nothing,” I growl with gritted teeth, pushing him away while eyeing the motherfucker that is seething to put his hands on me.

“That shit wasn’t nothing,” Nate exclaims, aggravated, his gaze bouncing off me to our common rival behind him.

“Get your boy in check, Wilder, or his ass will be seeing the end of my stick,” the Blackhawks douche threatens.

“Stop giving me ideas on what I’ll do to your momma tonight.” I grin, adding a wink when the asshole’s face blanches. “Gonna have her licking my stick all… night… long,” I taunt, grabbing my junk to drive the insult further home.

“Don’t even think about it,” Nate warns, pointing a menacing finger at the prick when he looks like he’s about to charge at me again.

Nate’s lethal expression is enough for Blackhawks’ forward to bid his warning and coax him to promptly skate the hell away from us.

“Pussy,” I murmur under my breath, pissed that the forward didn’t take the bait.

“Really? Momma jokes?” Nate grumbles, frustrated with me. “What are you? Twelve?”

“Hey, they work,” I snicker with a nonchalant shrug.

“Just cool it, Caleb, before you get kicked off the ice. Or worse… lose us the game.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off.

Nate throws me a disappointed frown that is too reminiscent of the man who should be here wearing the letter ‘C’ stitched onto his jersey instead of him.

“Listen to me,” he says, grabbing my shoulder to ensure that my attention is fully on him. “This is a big game, Caleb. Don’t fuck it up for the rest of us just because you’re bored. Jack would be pissed if we lost to the Blackhawks on their own turf because of your shenanigans.”

The mention of my brother’s name sours my mood.

“Well, Jack isn’t here now, is he?” I snarl, slapping his hand off me.

Nate’s pissed-off expression turns solemn, instantly creating a painful knot in my stomach.

“You’re right. He’s not. But you are. So step the fuck up and don’t let us down.”

He then skates away, leaving me fuming with his parting remark.

Right.

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