Page 102 of Pucking Amazing

We tumble to the ice in a tangle of limbs, gouging and pummeling each other like rabid dogs. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth as his knuckles smash against my teeth. Searing pain lances through my already battered knee when it twists beneath his weight.

Dimly, I’m aware of the chaos erupting around us—skates scraping, voices shouting, hands grabbing at our jerseys trying to haul us apart. But I’m too far gone, operating on pure primal instinct as I snarl and thrash against Marcus’s grip.

It takes three guys to pry us apart, our chests heaving, glaring daggers at each other across the ice.

Coach’s livid voice cuts through the haze of rage and adrenaline.

“Johnston! LeBlanc! What in the ever-loving fuck was that? You wanna beat the shit out of each other, you do it on your own time, not on my goddamn ice!”

His face a mask of disappointment, he gestures furiously at the mess we’ve made in the brawl—blood spatters on the ice, equipment scattered everywhere. “Hit the showers, both of you. And don’t even think about suiting up next game until you get your heads out of your asses.”

Shame sits like a lead weight in my gut as I limp toward the locker room, the adrenaline leaching out of my system and leaving behind only throbbing pain and bitter regret.

What the fuck was I thinking, throwing hands with Marcus like that? Letting him get under my skin, giving in to my anger? Some role model I am, completely losing my shit in front of the whole damn team.

I can feel their eyes boring into my back, a mix of shock and judgement and pity that makes my skin crawl. The great DJ Johnston, unraveling at the seams for all to see. Pathetic.

Stripping off my sweat-soaked gear with jerky, agitated movements, I don’t meet anyone’s gaze. The only one I want to look at right now is the one person who seems to be avoiding me like the plague.

Where the hell is Tyler?

I scan the room, but his stall is empty, his pads and skates nowhere to be seen. Did he book it out of here the second practice ended, not even bothering to wait for me? The thought sits like a stone in my chest.

I know I shouldn’t push, but more than anything I want to talk to Sydney right now. Somehow I know that she’ll be the only one who gets it.

But that’s not an option right now. After I shower and get dressed, I decide to head upstairs for some fresh air, maybe that will help me clear my head.

As I’m leaving the locker room, Grady says, “Yo, DJ! Coach is looking for you man?—”

“Can’t talk now bro, gotta hustle!” I shout over my shoulder, slipping past him. The fluorescent lights of the narrow hallway blur as I pick up speed. More shouts and the scuff of cleats on the rubber mat flooring chase after me. These fools aren’t gonna let me off easy.

I’m closing in on the metal double doors at the end of the hall when—shit. Coach’s unmistakable broad silhouette steps out from the equipment room. I hit the brakes so hard I nearly wipe out.

Nope, not happening, I am not ready for the verbal thrashing he’s gonna unleash on my ass.

Whirling around, I dash back the other way, shouldering my way through the gaggle of dudes gathering to gawk at my walk of shame.

“Move, I’m coming through!” Keeping my eyes downcast, I brush past them and beeline for the stairwell.

Taking the steps two at a time, I emerge onto the roof, the chilly air whipping across my overheated skin.

Chest heaving, I stalk to the edge and grip the metal railing, the city skyline wavering in my vision.

“Shit,” I groan, tilting my head back. I royally screwed the pooch back there. The media shitstorm, Mikey acting the fool, Syd caught in the crosshairs trying to clean up the mess...

It’s all turned to chaos.

And then there’s the dull ache pulsing in my knee.

I pace back and forth, thoughts racing.

This thing with Syd and Ty... We fit, I can feel it deep in my bones. But both of them are wrestling demons that make my issues look like a paper cut.

I want to be there for them, take on their battles.

Syd’s got such a bleeding heart, wanting to save the world. And Ty, king of the mind-fuck, convinced he has to be something he’s not...

Before I even realize what I’m doing, my feet carry me back down the stairs and through the now empty halls. Like a goddamn magnet, I’m drawn to her, ending up in front of Syd’s office door, fist poised to knock. I hesitate.

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