Page 28 of Power Pucking Play

I barrel into the fray, throwing my weight around to clear a path for Jacob. He manages to get the shot off, but not before one of their guys catches me with an elbow to the ribs.

Pain explodes in my side, but I ignore it. The crowd's going wild.

Jacob scored. That's all that matters.

Or so I think, until I turn and see the other team's enforcer bearing down on me, fists raised.

"Oh, for fu…" I don't even get to finish the thought before his fist connects with my jaw.

And just like that, all hell breaks loose.

Gloves hit the ice. Fists fly. The refs blow their whistles, but it's too late. This is a full-blown brawl now.

I give as good as I get, my knuckles stinging as they connect with the first guy's face.

Soon, I'm taking on two guys at once, ducking and weaving as punches rain down on me. It's chaos, a mess of limbs and curses, and the distant sound of the ref's whistle.

When it's finally over, I'm nursing a split lip and what's sure to be one hell of a shiner. But the other guy looks worse, so I'll call it a win.

As I skate to the penalty box, I catch sight of Lexi. She's staring at me, hazel eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

For some reason, that stings more than my bruised ribs.

I give her a grin, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. But inside, I'm seething. This is my game, my passion. And some punk from another team just tried to ruin it for me.

It’s part of the game. Hockey is a rough sport, full of hard hits and brutal fights. It takes a special kind of person to thrive in this environment.

It's a better environment than the one I grew up in—one where my own parents didn't give a damn about me, let alone my dreams of playing professional hockey.

But here, on the ice, I have a brotherhood. A team that has my back no matter what. We may fight and bicker off the ice, but when we step onto that rink, we're united in one goal: to win.

Unless...the Blades organization trades me like they've apparently planned to do.

The rest of the game is a blur. We lose, no thanks to my little stunt in the first period. As I trudge off the ice, I can feel Coach's glare burning a hole in the back of my head.

"De Luca! My office, now!"

I nearly wince, following him to the locker room. This ought to be fun.

"What the hell was that out there?" Coach demands as soon as the door closes behind us. "I thought we talked about controlling your temper!"

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my lips. He's right. I screwed up. And now I'm facing the consequences.

"I'm sorry, Coach." I’ve gotten really good at staring a hole in the floor. "I'll make it right."

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "I'm trying hard here, De Luca. I really am. And you're making it fucking impossible."

I sigh, guilt crawling into my throat and camping there. Coach has been trying to keep me in line ever since I joined the Blades organization, and I just keep letting him down.

But then again, it's not like they're treating me like a valuable player. The trade rumors have been swirling around for weeks now, and with each game that passes without a solid performance from me, they only seem to grow louder.

"Look, I know I haven't been at my best lately," I start, finally lifting my gaze to meet Coach's. "But it's not like you guys have been treating me like a valuable player, either."

Coach's eyebrows arch. "What are you talking about?"

"The trade rumors," I say, unable to hold back the bitterness in my voice. "I hear them all the time. It's hard to focus on the game when I don't even know if I'll be with this team tomorrow."

Coach looks taken aback for a moment before his expression turns into one of understanding. "I see your point, De Luca," he sighs again and leans his palms against his desk, "but you have to understand that it's not personal. It's just business."

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