Page 12 of Power Pucking Play

For a moment, I'm transfixed. It's easy to forget how good he is when you're not watching him up close. His movements are fluid, precise, a stark contrast to the brute force he's known for during games.

I shake my head, refocusing. I'm not here to admire his skills.

"De Luca!" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty arena.

Gio stops abruptly, his eyes finding mine. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffen.

"What are you doing here, Brookes?" he asks, skating toward me.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. "We need to talk."

He snorts, coming to a stop at the edge of the rink. "Nice salutation, by the way. Not a 'good morning' or a 'hello'. Just straight to annoying me in less than five seconds flat. Did you learn that in journalism school?"

I roll my eyes, used to Gio's trademark sarcasm. "You know, you're funnier on the ice than you are off it. That suspension you got for that dirty hit last week really took a toll on your sense of humor."

"I'm surprised you know what a sense of humor is, Brookes. I thought your job was to suck the joy out of everything."

"You really shouldn't concern yourself about my 'sucking' jobs, De Luca. You have other things to worry about."

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his expression. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say. "Like the rumors circulating about the Blades potentially trading you."

He blinks, those emerald green eyes of his turning harder than gemstones. "What rumors? There are always rumors about me. I don't pay any attention to them."

"Not these." I narrow my eyes at him. "These are pretty specific. And they came from sources close to the team."

"Sources? You mean gossip-hungry media vultures who have nothing better to do than stir up trouble?"

"I wouldn't call helping your career with an in-depth, nationally-televised feature, stirring up trouble." I hold his gaze, not backing down. "But if you want to keep pretending everything is fine and ignore the possibility of being traded, be my guest."

He's silent for a moment, staring at me with that challenging look still in his eyes. "I thought I made myself clear. I'm not doing the feature."

"That's not your decision to make," I reply, shrugging "This isn't just about you, Gio. It's about the team, your career…"

"My career is just fine, thanks," he cuts me off, his voice cold. "I don't need you or anyone else trying to 'fix' my image."

I bite back a retort, reminding myself to stay professional. "Look, I get it. You don't like me."

"Aw, what gave it away?"

"And you don't trust me." I continue, ignoring his sarcasm. "But this isn't about us. It's about the truth."

"The truth?" He scoffs again. "Do you really think anyone cares about the truth? They just want a good story, something to gossip about over their morning coffee."

"Maybe. But it's my job to tell that story as accurately and fairly as possible. And this feature could be good for both of us."

Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe even a hint of curiosity. "Both of us?"

I nod, seizing the opening. "Think about it: you get to show the world who you really are, beyond the 'bad boy' label. And I get to prove I can write about more than just scandals and fights."

Gio is quiet for a moment, studying me. I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze.

"And what makes you think you know who I really am?" he asks, his voice low.

Images from that night flash through my mind: the vulnerability in his eyes, the softness in his touch. I push them away, focusing on the present.

"Well, I don’t know…maybe the years you’ve spent being blood-related to my best friend might have helped.”

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