Page 62 of Dirty Pucker

But I don’t regret it. I’d do it again if I could.

The anger and adrenaline rolling through me from minutes ago settles. I let out a breath, feeling calmer.

The refs finally break apart and one of them heads to center ice, turns on his mic, and announces that I’ve been kicked out of the game for checking from behind.

I get pulled out of the box and led off the ice. I catch Coach Porter talking to one of the other refs. He glares at me, and I look away.

I’m in deep shit. But it’s worth it.

Chapter 22

Del

Istand in the Bandits media room, surrounded by reporters.

“Del, how do you feel about getting kicked out of the game not even five minutes into the second period? Do you feel like that was a fair call?”

“I don’t think it matters what I think. What happened, happened,” I say as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

I exhale and try not to sound too irritated. I’ve never liked post-game press, but it’s something we all have to do. The reporters need quotes for their stories and we as players need to show that we’re willing to have a pleasant back-and-forth with the sports media.

And I’m fine with doing all that, but sometimes reporters ask the dumbest shit. Or they try to get under your skin and ask stuff that they know will piss you off. It’s annoying as fuck.

When Coach Porter told me I was up for post-game press, I knew it was because he was pissed at me for the fight I got into with Crowley. Clearly he wants me to deal with the consequences of what I pulled during the game, and getting hounded by reporters is part of that.

“The Bandits scored another goal not long after you were kicked out,” another reporter says. “That pretty much solidifiedthe lead for them. Do you think the Bashers’ loss lands squarely on your shoulders?”

I grit my teeth and take a second before I speak. I don’t want to sound as annoyed as I feel.

“There are a lot of things that happen during a game that lead to both a loss and a win,” I say. “I don’t know if it’s fair to say that one thing caused the result of tonight’s game.”

The reporter looks disappointed at my generic-as-fuck answer.

“Do you think you’ll get suspended for what you did?”

“I hope not, but if that’s what ends up happening, then I’ll accept that decision.”

“Is there bad blood between you and Owen Crowley?” A reporter standing in front of me asks. “The way you hit him looked personal.”

I purse my lips. No fucking way I’m getting into that in a room full of reporters.

“This is hockey. Tough hits happen sometimes.”

“But you said something to him right after you hit him, as you were standing over him,” that same reporter says. “What did you say?”

“That’s not for you or anyone else to know.”

Things wrap up a few minutes later. I walk out of the press room with Theo and Xander, who were also answering media questions.

“You handled that like a champ,” Theo says.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

We walk back to the locker room to get cleaned up. Coach Porter walks in.

“Richards. A word. Now.”

I nod and walk over to him, preparing myself for the ass-chewing he’s about to give me. In front of the team, no less.

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