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“Like he wouldn’t deserve it? He knew what he was doing with Kat. She deserves so much better than Dean Crawford.”
“He’s not a bad guy. You just never gave him a chance.”
Austin is the nice brother. He’s the one everyone goes to when they need their hand held, or their ass wiped.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Austin says to break the silence. “We all want to kill Dean right now. But try to put your bullshit aside and do the right thing for Kat. She needs us.”
“Yeah,” I say to brush him off. “I’ll try.”
We’ll see how I feel when I see Dean next week.
Chapter Three
Duke
Fueled by anger and adrenaline, I skate down the ice with one goal in mind—take Dean Crawford out of the game. End his career. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than wipe the ice with him. After getting my baby sister pregnant, I have a few punishments in mind.
Kat and Austin begged me to leave Dean alone. For a split second, I had considered it. I was planning to respect their wishes. But the second I saw Dean on the ice tonight, I knew I couldn’t let him get away with what he did to Kat. He needs to pay for being so reckless with my sister.
I’m the one player on the ice you don’t want to mess with unless you have a death wish. Almost everyone in the NHL has had the pleasure of a Baldwin Beatdown. I solve problems with my fists and not-so-subtle checks into the boards that earn me a lot of time in the sin bin. And Dean’s pretty-boy face is about to get introduced to my fist.
My sister and her child deserve better than the asshole I am desperately trying to catch. But he’s fast. If Dean is good at one thing, it’s running away. Not this time. For the past week, I’ve had the number twenty-four burned into my brain. Ever since my sister confessed that Dean is the father, I waited for this night to come.
I catch up to Dean at center ice. He looks over his shoulder at me and switches the puck to his weak side. Peeling the gloves from my hands, I throw them on the ice along with my stick. I grab Dean by the collar of his jersey. He attempts to skate away, still in possession of the puck, but as he squirms, he only makes it easier for me to get him to where I want him. Those in attendance at the Wells Fargo Center cheer when I slam Dean into the boards, causing him to lose his balance.
Marcel comes up from behind us to steal the puck from between our legs, giving me enough room to handle my family business. With a firm grip on Dean’s collar, I tug hard enough that he falls backward and into my chest. I give him a shit-eating grin that he returns with his jaw clenched in anger.
“This is for Kat and the baby,” I growl into his ear. He looks confused, so I add, “She’s pregnant, you fucking scumbag.”
The defeated look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. He knows he screwed up. No one messes with the Baldwins, most of all, Kat. She reminds me so much of my mother, despite being rough around the edges. Mom made me promise I would take care of Kat and my younger brothers. Messing up Dean’s face is an act of love, a tribute to my sister and our family. Every minute in the penalty box will be worth it.
Dean’s jersey slides up his back as I slam his pretty-boy face into the Plexiglas. He spins around, still struggling to break free from my grasp, and I hit him with a right hook to the jaw followed by a jab that forces him to his knees. I don’t loosen my grip, not even for a second. Bending over Dean, I land a few more punches, which bloody the ice before two linesmen grab my arms.
I’m not done with him, not even close. The cheers from the crowd grow louder as I fight the linesmen off and knee Dean in the face. His lifeless body goes limp, and then he falls to the side, his blood smearing the ice. As I thr
ow my hands up in victory, my fist accidentally collides with the jaw of the linesman behind me.
What did I just do?
I forgot about the officials waiting to drag me off the ice. The remaining officials are now shoving me out of the way, as doctors rush onto the ice to look at Dean and the linesman I knocked out cold. Everything around me becomes a blur. My teammates surround me, screaming words I can’t make out.
Some of the Flyers are circling us, with their gloves off and sticks laid down, hoping to get a clean shot at me. My teammates assemble around me to block the other players, even though I don’t need them to shield me from the beating I now deserve. The last player who hit a linesman lost a month’s worth of pay and earned a hefty suspension.
Was knocking out Dean Crawford worth the money? You bet your ass.
Before tonight, I was already one of the deadliest defensemen in the NHL. This fight only solidifies my bad boy persona that keeps players at a distance. My dad will be pissed. But I don’t care. Smashing my fist into Dean’s face was cathartic.
Ever since my dad’s retirement from the league, he’s worked as a commentator for the NHL Network. An incident of this magnitude makes him look bad, especially when he’s the one analyzing this game, probably at this very second. Oops! Sorry, not sorry, Dad.
As I exit the rink, I don’t bother to look at a single person. I can sense my coach’s disapproving scowl without looking over at him. I have a habit of acting before I think. Now, it’s time to face the consequences.
* * *
After I got ejected from the game, the league suspended me for twenty-games. I wish I could say that I regret what I did. I should feel bad for busting open Dean’s pretty face.
My coach slams the door behind him, leaving me alone with Tom Hartwell, the Capitals general manager. Coach laid into me for an hour. He’s furious with me but made it clear he wants me back on the ice.
Tom leans forward and folds his hands in front of him with an intimidating stare. “I have good news and bad news.”
