Page 1 of Dirty Pucker

Chapter 1

Del

Istand outside of the Bashers locker room, my heart hammering in my chest.

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. What the fuck am I doing?

Every muscle in my body twitches with the urge to turn around and run away. I don’t belong here. I vowed I’d never, ever come back to Denver.

But that was before last month when my mom called me in a panic…

And that’s when I knew. I had to move back.

My stomach twists into a knot when I remember how her voice shook, how scared she sounded.

I thought we were finally okay. It had been more than a decade since we heard from that asshole. I thought he finally got the message and would stay away from her for good.

I was wrong.

For a fleeting second, I feel like I’m going to vomit.

But then I breathe. I clench my jaw. That sick feeling passes.

Another breath and I manage to hold it together. Like I always do.

I’m here because I need to be. It’s the only way to keep Mom and Dakota safe.

I roll my shoulders and focus my gaze on the locker room door. Muffled sounds of talking and shouting and laughing filter through the door. Some hip-hop song booms in the background as they get ready for practice.

Every guy in the locker room is aching to kick the shit out of me. I can’t blame them. I’ve brawled with almost all of them. And I’ve hit nearly all the guys in this room with a cheap shot on the ice more times than I can count.

I couldn’t have picked a worse team in the league to get traded to. The worst fights of my career have been with the Bashers. Playing with these guys is gonna be hell.

But I don’t care. It’s what I have to do to keep my mom and my sister safe.

It’s always been like this. I’m the oldest kid and the big brother. I take care of everything—all the stress, all the problems. Always, no matter what. And I don’t let it faze me. I don’t let the worry and fear show in my expression, in my actions, in my mood, in my words.

I hold it all in. And then I take it out on the ice.

That’s why I’m known as the dirtiest brawler in the NHL. I’ve got the most penalty time out of any player in the league. I’ve been in more fights than anyone else.

When I was younger, that was something I was proud of. Never afraid to back down from a fight. I’d thrown down with anyone.

Fans even gave me a nickname for it: Dirty Del.

A knot settles in my gut. That proud feeling is nowhere to be found anymore. And I’m trying to figure out why.

“Hey there, Del!”

I turn and see an early-thirties guy in a suit walking up to me, smiling wide. I assume he’s the PR guy. I try to smile, but my face muscles ache, I’m so nervous.

Instead, I nod once at him as he sticks his hand out for me to shake.

“I’m Skyler, Alanna’s assistant. It’s great to finally meet you.”

I shake his hand. “Good to meet you too.”

“Alanna’s in a meeting with the Bashers owner, so I’ll be introducing you to the team today,” Skyler says.

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