Putting my fist through someone’s face runs the risk of never skating in the big leagues again. If I keep this up, I’ll be lacing up just to play in a beer league on Thursday nights with a bunch of washed up dudes who will judge me for pissing away the shot I was given. The shot they probably dreamed of.
“You think that’ll happen?” I find the courage to ask.
Declan’s jaw ticks again, which means yes—he thinks there’s a chance it might.
“I think Coach will fight for you to try and prevent it, but I’m pretty sure you’re on thin ice either way.”
Coach, who I keep embarrassing. Coach, who came onto this team just a few short years ago and understood me instantly. This isn’t my first public scuffle. It was just myworstpublic scuffle. There were fights that ended much, much worse that I got away with. Not my proudest moments, but I should have learned to rein it in by now. I’ve been told time and time again that I have to.
I haven’t learned a thing.
It’s a conundrum, being rewarded so heavily for being this version of myself each and every night on the ice, but being chastised for it when that part of me appears outside of the arena. People antagonize me to try and provoke the temper that’s always lying there, waiting for its moment to explode. It’s not a new thing, but I should know how to control it by now. The fuse that makes me a very rich man is the same fuse that threatens to destroy my career.
It’s hard to make sense of. It’s hard to find a balance.
“How pissed is Saltzy?”
Declan cringes, which means I’m in shit. This sucks, because he’s never going to let me meet his dad now. I’m obsessed with Cap’s old man, Gene Saltzman. He was a legend when I was growing up. Contrary to his son, who plays a clean and quiet game, Gene was a dirty, brutal enforcer on the ice. He was ruthless and smart, and though a controversial player, he was my guy growing up.
If Cap’s mad, he’s not going to introduce me to him. He promised that next time his dad was in town, he’d finally let me shake that man’s hand. It’s been years of him making me that promise, but I feel like this is actually the time that it’s going to happen.
“He’ll be over it by Monday.”
“Great.”
Sounds promising. Saltzy doesn’t show many emotions on a good day, even less on a bad one. Do you know how awful it is to know someone is mad at you, but they don’t express it? Saltzy is the king of the silent treatment. Quiet. Calculated. In his head. He might make one or two comments, but that’s all I’ll get. It’ll be up to me to get over that and feel satisfied that he’s over it as well.
“Morning skate should be a joy.”
“Great.”
“How’s the hand?”
Sore. I refuse to admit I might have broken a knuckle. I’ll have it looked at before I ever voice that aloud. I’m praying it’s just swollen, that I can tape it and play through it. I’ve definitely had worse damage and still suited up.
“Great.”
“Did that guy get a swing in or something?” Declan asks,shooting me a look. “Did he wipe half of your vocabulary out of your head?”
I glance at him, flashing a charming smile that has him rolling his eyes.
“Come on. Nobody lands a hit on this face and lives to tell the tale.”
CHAPTER FOUR
arden
I can’t stop cleaning.
My apartment is spotless. My bedding has been washed. I have fluffed every pillow that has ever entered my home and burned all the nose hairs out of my head with the amount of bleach I used in the bathroom.
When I’m stressed, I clean.
Last night was a madhouse. I don’t know how it escalated that quickly. One second, I’m getting angry with Carter for making a blatantly rude comment about that night with Declan, and the next, he’s beating the hell out of the jerk who smacked my ass.
Can you want to slap someone and be insanely attracted to them at the same time?
If Whitney hadn’t grabbed my hand and shoved me out of the way, I probably would have attempted to put a stop to it, only to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him if he’d let me. There is something remarkably attractive about a man who would defend the honour ofanywoman who is being mistreated, not just one he’s attached to.
