Page 97 of Blindside Saint

“He knows what I’m doing, I’m sure.” I smile and try to move in again.

But this time, she actually steps away. “If you think that makes me feel better, Beck, you’re wrong. Just go, please.”

I grimace, but I back away. I look back at her over my shoulder when I get to the door. “I’m going to knock the hell out of that son of a bitch. Because you’re mine, Sloan. You’re mine and no one else’s.”

An hour and a half later, the referee is holding the puck poised for the drop, and I’m face-to-face with the motherfucker who thought he could steal glances at my woman.

He starts jawing as soon as we square up for the faceoff. “That your girlfriend or just your pregame piece of ass?”

“Shut the fuck up, Cole.”

“Seriously. She looked tight.” He laughs. “When you’re done with her, hook me up. Used pussy can still be good pussy.”

That’s it.I drop the gloves and pounce.

The little prick doesn’t even have time before I’m pounding a hole where his face used to be. I have a game misconduct coming for what I’m doing, no doubt—but I’m going to earn every fucking second of it.

He doesn’t get a single punch in before he goes down like a bag of bricks. I drag him right back to his feet, hit him a couple more times, then throw him down.

Then the referees are all over me, pushing me toward the bench. “You’re out, Beck!”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” I don’t have a single regret; he talked shit about Sloan.

But Coach and the trainer and the equipment guy are all looking at me, utterly disgusted. “Get to the locker room,” Coach hisses. “I’ll deal with you at intermission.”

I’m not worried. I’ll explain it. He’ll understand.

Two of my knuckles are busted open, so the team doc comes back with me because I’m gonna need to be sewed up. Turns out the little bastard had some sharp teeth. Of course, the one that cut me is skittering around somewhere on the ice right now.

Serves him right.

Doc looks at me and shakes his head. “What was that about, Daniels?”

“That guy’s a douche. He was talking about Sloan.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no general manager, but you oughta be careful. Your salary is one the team could offload and get some rookies in here without touching the cap. Better mind your manners.”

I scoff. “Bullshit. I’m a workhorse. Seattle needs me.”

“Maybe, but you had more goals and assists last year before the new contract and the pay bump. I mean, come on, Beck—this is the run to the Cup and you’re getting yourself kicked out of games?” He shrugs. “Not so smart, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you. Just stitch up my hand.” I hold my hand out. My knuckles are mangled and it’s gonna take more than one or two stitches to close the cut.

But Doc is a chatterbox, and he takes a hint about as well as Cole Jeter takes a hit—badly. “On one hand, the team needs this win, ‘cause L.A. is on fire. So you gotta hope it goes your way and some pucks go in the net. But for you personally, you better hope they can’t make a shot without you.”

Fuck.He has a point. If they play too many games without me and win, I’m suddenly a lot less valuable. This game without me is my own fault. I’ll be damned if the guy didn’t deserve it. But they won’t give a fuck about that.

It’s a ruthless business.

Reading Tweets while I watch the game on the locker room TV doesn’t make me feel much better, either. Each one is worse than the last.

@Wavefan1:Bruiser Beck needs to go. Use his salary to get a player who can score a goal.

@HockeyProBoss:Game misconduct? His 5th of the year. Trade for a player, not a thug.

@SeattleH0ckeyMom:My kids gotta find a new hero. Not buying tickets again until #22 is someone else’s problem.

@RidetheWave:The only hall of fame Beck Daniels is making it to is HoF for Assholes.

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