Page 91 of Dirty As Puck
Between shifts, I catch a flicker of movement on the jumbotron’s split feed, something most fans don’t even notice. A security angle that’s deep in the arena tunnels. My blood runs cold.
It’s Derek.
He’s hunched over a crate near the storage room, slipping papers into an equipment bag. From this distance, I can’t make out the details, but I don’t need to. It’s him, and I know he’s up to something. Again.
Moments later, my phone buzzes on the bench. A message from our head of security.
He’s planting betting slips and trying to rig sport gambling apps too. We’ve got him on camera.
For a second, I can’t breathe. My chest locks up, fury pounding through me like a drum. Even now, after everything, the exposé, the warrants, the truth being finally revealed, he’s still clawing at my career, trying to bury me with lies.
The arena crowd roars as the second period rages on, but all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. I grip my stick so hard my knuckles ache.
Then the update flashes across the monitor. Security is closing in. Two officers, and one guard. They corner him in the south tunnel, Derek pressed back against the wall like a rat with nowhere left to run.
My pulse spikes as I watch the scene. I should be satisfied he’s caught but this isn’t over. Not until I face him.
I shove my helmet off, ignoring the startled look from the assistant coach. My skates scrape against the concrete as I leave the bench, cutting through the corridor that leads down into the bowels of the arena.
The further I go, the louder the echoes become shouts, the clattering of boots, and Derek’s voice barking something desperate and wild.
For days I’ve carried the weight of his destruction, for years even, without knowing it. Tonight, I’m done running from him.
I’m going down there.
His eyes snap to me, and for a moment the whole arena, the whole world, disappears. Just the two of us, brothers who were never really brothers.
“You shouldn’t be here,” one of the officers warns, but I ignore them.
Derek sneers, voice cracking. “Of course you’d show up. Golden boy Kai, here to watch me get dragged out like trash.”
“I didn’t come to watch,” I say, stepping closer. “I came to listen. Say what you need to say.”
That’s all it takes for him to explode.
“You had everything! Fame, talent, people who worship you. I had scraps. Do you know what it’s like to grow up knowing you were the mistake? That you’ll always be the second choice?”
His words cut, but I don’t flinch. I also know what it’s like to have nothing too. Nights spent in foster homes, fighting to be seen, to matter.
“You think I had it easy? I clawed my way here. Every bruise, every doubt, every night I wanted to quit, I kept going. You didn’t get nothing, Derek. You chose to have nothing.”
He shakes his head violently, eyes wild. “Liar. You stole it from me.”
The officers move in, gripping his arms. He thrashes, spitting curses, but he’s finished. His fight ended long before tonight.
I stand there, chest tight, watching as they snap cuffs around his wrists. For a second, I almost pity him. Almost.
Then I turn, skates biting into the tunnel floor, the roar of the crowd above pulling me back. The game isn’t over. My game isn’t over.
The tunnel spits me back into the blinding light of the arena. The roar of the crowd crashes over me like a tidal wave.
My chest is still burning from Derek’s words, but I shove them down, and let the fire drive me instead. This is where I belong, on the ice, with everything on the line.
The ref waves me over for my shift. My teammates tap my pads, their eyes locked on mine like they know what just happened outside without a word being said.
I nod at them, feeling pumped. No excuses, no threat holding me back. Just the game.
The puck drops and chaos erupts. I chase, stick slapping, legs pumping harder than they ever have. The other team’s defense is brutal, but I cut through, carving the ice like it owes me something. Every cheer feels like it’s echoing in my bones.
