Page 49 of Snowed In With the PUCK

My fists clench. I don’t even think before I’m on my feet, crossing the locker room in three strides. I shove Ivan hard in the chest, knocking him back a step. “I said, shut the hell up.”

The room goes quiet, the sudden tension snapping through the air. Ivan stumbles but quickly regains his footing, his smirk replaced by a scowl. He shoves me back, harder than I expected, and suddenly we’re squared off, inches away from each other, fists ready to fly.

“What’s your problem, Warren?” Ivan growls, eyes flashing. “Can’t take a joke?”

Before I can throw a punch, Ryan steps in, pushing us apart with a firm hand on my chest. “Cool it, man. Both of you. We’re all tired.”

Ivan glares at me for another second, then backs off, muttering something under his breath as he heads back to his locker. I stand there, breathing hard, trying to get my head straight. Ryan keeps a hand on my shoulder, his voice low. “What the hell was that, Eric? You know he didn’t mean anything by it.”

I shake my head, trying to calm the surge of anger that’s still pounding through my veins. “I don’t know, man. I’m just… I don’t know.”

Ryan gives me a look, one that says he isn’t going to push me on it right now. “Yeah, well, save that aggression for the ice. Coach isn’t gonna put up with any more of that Nashville shit here.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything else. Ryan’s right. If I want to stay in Denver, I need to leave all that old baggage behind. But it’s not that easy, not when everything feels like it’s coming at me from all sides. The pressure, the uncertainty, the constant balancing act between my career and my personal life—it’s all starting to feel like a tidal wave coming right at me.

Coach Bill steps into the locker room, eyeing the tension still hanging in the air between Ivan and me. His voice is sharp when he addresses the team. “Enough of that bullshit. We’re here to work, not to settle personal grudges.”

His eyes land on me, and I know he’s talking directly to me, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. I sit back down, focusing on tying my skates, trying to push down the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Practice is a grind. Everyone’s moving slower than usual, the fatigue from the last two days hanging over us like a weight. I push myself through the drills, ignoring the ache in my legs, the exhaustion tugging at every muscle. I’ve been through worse. I’ve played through worse. But today, it feels like every step is heavier than the last.

As we wrap up the session, Coach calls us into the locker room, and I’m more than ready for the day to be over. But just as I’m about to start peeling off my gear, Coach clears his throat, signaling that he’s got an announcement.

“Alright, listen up,” he says, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the room. “We’ve got some news. There’s been a trade.”

The room goes still, everyone waiting to hear who’s coming and who’s going. Trades are always a big deal, especially late-season. They can change the entire dynamic of a team.

“We’ve picked up a forward,” Coach continues, his eyes scanning the room. “Bart Knowles.”

I freeze. The name hits me like a punch to the gut. Bart fucking Knowles. Of all the players in the league, it had to be him.

A low murmur ripples through the locker room. Everyone knows Bart’s reputation. He’s good—reallygood—but he’s also one of the cockiest assholes I’ve ever played against. A defenseman better than all the best of the best. And we’ve got history. Bad history. Back when I was in Nashville, Bart and I clashed more times than I can count, both on and off the ice.

Great. Just what I need.

Coach’s eyes land on me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. This isn’t going to be easy. “Gator,” he says, his voice steady. “I know you and Bart have had your issues in the past. But he’s part of the team now.”

I nod, even though I can feel the anger already simmering under the surface. Bart coming to Denver is the last thing I need right now. The last thing any of us need.

Practice ends, and I head to the showers, my mind racing. Of all the players to trade for, why him? I can already see the problems this is going to cause. The tension, the rivalry—it’s going to bleed onto the ice, no matter how much Coach tells us to leave it in the past.

As I leave the arena and head to my car, I try to push the thoughts of Bart aside. I’ve got enough on my plate without adding him into the mix. But I know it’s not going to be that simple. Nothing ever is.

By the time I pull into the driveway of the Stanton house, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered yard. Jessica’s car is parked in its usual spot, and just seeing it there makes my chest loosen a little. She’s home, and for a moment, I let myself relax.

I step inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around me, and find Jessica in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something that smells amazing. She looks up when I walk in, her face lighting up with a smile that makes everything else fade away, if only for a moment.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft. “How was it?”

I shrug, leaning against the counter as I watch her. “It was practice. Nothing exciting. Just… tired, I guess.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, like she knows there’s more to the story, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she hands me a bowl ofwhatever she’s been cooking—some kind of hearty stew—and I take it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my hands.

“You’ll get through it,” she says quietly, leaning into my side as we sit down at the small kitchen table. “Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. I know you will.”

I look at her, really look at her, and something in my heart relaxes. She has no idea how much I need to hear that right now.

But as much as I want to believe her, I can’t ignore the feeling that things are about to get a whole lot harder before they get any better.

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