Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

8. Del

Chapter 8

Del

I fly across the ice after a Devils defenseman in possession of the puck. My heart pounds as I close in on him.

I’ve been running my ass off this whole game trying to play as hard as I can, to show my new team and the Bashers fans that I belong here. It’s my first game in a Bashers jersey and I know everyone is doubting if I’ll be able to fit in—if I’ll be able to hold my own amongst my teammates, who would give anything to get rid of me.

That’s why my nerves were going haywire the second I stepped on the ice for warmups. To be honest, they were haywire the second I stepped foot in the arena hours earlier.

Because I know that everyone around me is watching me, scrutinizing me, waiting for me to screw up. Waiting for me to lose my shit and go all Dirty Del on the ice.

I was all nerves and adrenaline the first few minutes of the game. Even when I scored our first goal, I was riddled with self-doubt, every muscle in my body tense.

But then I saw Ingrid sitting in the stands. I saw her cheering for me, flashing that gorgeous smile.

I saw that sweet and stunning woman who wants to be my friend. Who doesn’t see me as Dirty Del. Who thinks I’m funny and kind and fun to hang out with.

And that’s when I started to feel lighter and more at ease. That’s all it took. One smile from her and I instantly felt calmer.

I honestly can’t believe it. I’ve known this woman for two days and already she’s had a noticeable effect on me.

I catch up to the Devils defenseman and check him, throwing him off balance. It’s enough for me to steal away the puck and head toward their net.

As I take off, a Devils winger zeroes in on me. I pass the puck to Theo a second before the winger bashes me into the boards. Pain shoots through my shoulder and I let out a grunt before stumbling on the ice. I manage to keep from falling and right myself, but then the Devils winger shoves me again.

“Let’s fucking go, Richards,” he booms.

If this had been even a month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to fight this guy. I’d have dropped my stick and my gloves, grabbed his jersey, and punched him until one of us fell to the ice.

But I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I’ll still fight, but not because some moody winger wants to prove himself by taking on the dirtiest fighter in the league.

I shake my head and mutter “nope” before skating off to join the rest of my teammates as they scramble for control of the puck near the Devils’ net.

Behind me, the winger starts to cuss me out, but I ignore him. The fight for the puck is chaotic, and it’s not long before the puck goes flying toward center ice. Theo takes off after it, but before he can grab it, that winger who tried to start shit with me checks him.

He falls onto the ice, landing on his knee with a yell.

The refs blow the whistle, stopping play. Instantly, the crowd starts to boo. One of our defensemen skates over and says something about how that’s Theo’s bad knee.

As the linesmen move to help Theo up, I spot the Devils player glaring at Theo.

“You’re such a pussy, Thompson,” he taunts. “Way to milk it, you fucking loser.”

I instantly skate over to him and shove him. “Fuck off.”

He smirks at me. “Oh, now you wanna?—”

I don’t even wait for him to finish before punching him in the face. That smirk disappears as his expression twists in pain. The crowd erupts in cheers. Fans start chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” He stumbles back, but rights himself quickly, punching me in the chin. I grab his jersey to hold him still, then punch him again and again.

Theo hates my fucking guts, but he’s my teammate now, and when someone lays a dirty hit on your teammate, you make them pay for it. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now as I pummel this asshole’s face.

He lands a few hits on my jaw and shoulder before we fall to the ice.

The linesmen pull us apart before dragging us off to the penalty boxes. I catch eyes with Theo, who’s standing now. I glance down at his knee.

“You okay?” I ask as I catch my breath.

He blinks at me, like he can’t quite believe I just retaliated on his behalf. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I nod once at him. When I glance over to the Bashers bench, I make eye contact with Coach Porter. For a second, I’m nervous. He frowns at me, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression stony and unreadable as usual.

But then he nods at me, giving me his silent approval of the fight I just got into. I’m instantly relieved.

But as I sit in the penalty box and guzzle water, I know one fight won’t make up for everything I’ve done.

I’m still the outsider on my team—the guy everyone despises. I’ve got a long way to go before that changes.

“Damn good game, gentlemen,” Coach Porter says to us from the center of the locker room.

He slowly steps around, his hands in his suit pants pocket, while addressing all of us. “Hell of a comeback in the third period.” He points to Xander. “Williams, that was a nasty goal you pulled off. We’d be in overtime if you hadn’t broken the tie.”

Xander grins as he tugs a hand through his dark hair, damp with sweat. The team cheers.

Coach Porter points to Blomdahl. “Blomdahl, you were like a goddamn cat tonight, catching pucks like it was nothing.”

More cheers and hollers for Blomdahl. He flashes a grin and a thumbs up as he wipes the sweat off his forehead with a towel.

Coach Porter turns to me. “Nice work teaching that Devils player a lesson about cheap hits. I’m good with fights like that.”

I nod and mumble a quiet “thanks.” It feels good to earn Coach Porter’s praise after my first game, but I can still feel the tension from my teammates. They still don’t like me. And I know that Coach isn’t magically smitten with me. I have a lot left to prove to him still. The rest of the team still doesn’t want me here. And I don’t blame them one bit.

A quiet second passes before Theo speaks. “Never thought I’d be cheering for you, Richards, but you earned it.” I turn to look at him. “Thanks for kicking that guy’s ass on my behalf.”

I nod. “No problem.”

“Let’s hear it!” Theo shouts, clapping. The rest of the team follows suit and claps with him. It’s pretty subdued compared to how loud everyone cheered for Blomdahl and Xander. But I’ll take it.

Things in the locker room wrap up and we start to clean up. When the assistant coach announces who’s up for post-game press, I’m relieved when I don’t hear my name. The last thing I want to do when I’m exhausted after a game is answer questions from sports reporters. I know it’ll probably be my turn next game though, so I’d better enjoy tonight.

When I finish showering and getting dressed, I check my phone and see a text from Ingrid.

Ingrid: Amazing game tonight! The Denver fans love you :)

Me: You think so?

Ingrid: Absolutely! Didn’t you hear how loud they cheered for you when you fought that jerk from the Devils?

Me: I couldn’t really hear, I was too focused on punching him in the face

She sends back a laughing emoji.

Ingrid: Oh by the way, did you see this?

It’s a screenshot of that TikTok video she put together of me with those kittens from yesterday.

Ingrid: 25K views. You owe me a drink.

Me: I thought we already agreed yesterday that I owe you a drink.

Ingrid: We did. I just wanted to rub it in your face a little.

I smile at how playful she is over text. I like it. A lot.

Ingrid: I’m craving French fries too.

Me: I think I can handle that. Where do you want to go?

Ingrid: How about Spanky’s? They have epic fries.

Me: I’m in.