Power Pucking Play (Chicago Blades)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lexi

T he Chicago Blades' practice facility looms before me, a behemoth of steel and glass glinting in the early morning sun. I take a deep breath, straightening my blazer and clutching my notepad like a shield.

"You've got this, Brookes," I mutter to myself, pushing through the doors.

The cool air inside hits me, along with the familiar scent of ice and sweat. I nod to the receptionist, flashing my press pass.

"I'm here to see Jackass De…" I cough. "I'm sorry. I meant Giovanni De Luca," I say.

She eyes me skeptically. "Mr. De Luca doesn't usually see reporters during practice hours."

I lean in, lowering my voice. "I'm not just any reporter. I'm here on behalf of Sports News Now for an exclusive feature."

The receptionist hesitates, then nods, gesturing toward the rink.

As I push open the doors to the rink, I'm hit with a blast of cold air and the sight of Gio, graceful and powerful, as he glides across the ice.

For a moment, I'm transfixed. It's easy to forget how good he is when you're not watching him up close. His movements are fluid, precise, a stark contrast to the brute force he's known for during games.

I shake my head, refocusing. I'm not here to admire his skills.

"De Luca!" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty arena.

Gio stops abruptly, his eyes finding mine. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffen.

"What are you doing here, Brookes?" he asks, skating toward me.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. "We need to talk."

He snorts, coming to a stop at the edge of the rink. "Nice salutation, by the way. Not a 'good morning' or a 'hello'. Just straight to annoying me in less than five seconds flat. Did you learn that in journalism school?"

I roll my eyes, used to Gio's trademark sarcasm. "You know, you're funnier on the ice than you are off it. That suspension you got for that dirty hit last week really took a toll on your sense of humor."

"I'm surprised you know what a sense of humor is, Brookes. I thought your job was to suck the joy out of everything."

"You really shouldn't concern yourself about my 'sucking' jobs, De Luca. You have other things to worry about."

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his expression. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to say. "Like the rumors circulating about the Blades potentially trading you."

He blinks, those emerald green eyes of his turning harder than gemstones. "What rumors? There are always rumors about me. I don't pay any attention to them."

"Not these." I narrow my eyes at him. "These are pretty specific. And they came from sources close to the team."

"Sources? You mean gossip-hungry media vultures who have nothing better to do than stir up trouble?"

"I wouldn't call helping your career with an in-depth, nationally-televised feature, stirring up trouble." I hold his gaze, not backing down. "But if you want to keep pretending everything is fine and ignore the possibility of being traded, be my guest."

He's silent for a moment, staring at me with that challenging look still in his eyes. "I thought I made myself clear. I'm not doing the feature."

"That's not your decision to make," I reply, shrugging "This isn't just about you, Gio. It's about the team, your career…"

"My career is just fine, thanks," he cuts me off, his voice cold. "I don't need you or anyone else trying to 'fix' my image."

I bite back a retort, reminding myself to stay professional. "Look, I get it. You don't like me."

"Aw, what gave it away?"

"And you don't trust me." I continue, ignoring his sarcasm. "But this isn't about us. It's about the truth."

"The truth?" He scoffs again. "Do you really think anyone cares about the truth? They just want a good story, something to gossip about over their morning coffee."

"Maybe. But it's my job to tell that story as accurately and fairly as possible. And this feature could be good for both of us."

Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe even a hint of curiosity. "Both of us?"

I nod, seizing the opening. "Think about it: you get to show the world who you really are, beyond the 'bad boy' label. And I get to prove I can write about more than just scandals and fights."

Gio is quiet for a moment, studying me. I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze.

"And what makes you think you know who I really am?" he asks, his voice low.

Images from that night flash through my mind: the vulnerability in his eyes, the softness in his touch. I push them away, focusing on the present.

"Well, I don’t know…maybe the years you’ve spent being blood-related to my best friend might have helped.”

"And you think that means you know me because we attend the same holiday dinners and exchange pleasantries?"

“You? Exchange pleasantries? That's rich."

He blinks, and a hint of heat floods his long-lashed eyes. "I seem to remember us exchanging quite a few...pleasantries inside your hotel room at the All-Star Afterparty."

My face heats, and I hope the bright lights in the practice facility will hide my blush. "That was a mistake."

"Really? Because I don't seem to recall you complaining at the time. Quite the opposite actually."

I open my mouth to retort, but then I remember our conversation about truth and decide to take a different approach.

"Fine. Maybe it wasn't a mistake, but it was just one night. And I've known you for much longer than that. You're more than just a wild party boy and a skilled athlete. You're also someone who cares deeply about his family and his community."

Gio's expression softens as he listens to my words. "And how do you know all of this?"

"I pay attention. I know that as much as you annoy your sister, she, for some reason, absolutely adores you. I know your Nonna's sauce is your favorite comfort food. You like pineapple on your pizza. You change your socks at least three times a day, and you can quote Goodfellas from beginning to end." I'm tempted to smirk. "I hear your Joe Pesci impression is pretty spot on too."

He chuckles, and for a second, I forget that we're in a crowded gym with the rest of his team working out nearby.

I forget that I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns and that I'm supposed to be here to get a story, not consort with the enemy. Instead, I feel myself being pulled toward him.

"Impressive. You've been doing your research," he says with a hint of admiration in his voice.

"It's called being a good journalist."

"I think most people would refer to that as stalking."

"You can call it whatever you'd like. But after this feature, they'll be calling me the best damn journalist in Chicago. And they'll be calling you the best damn defenseman in pro hockey."

Gio's dark eyebrows arch towards the sky. "And how exactly are you going to achieve that?"

"Just leave it to me. Give me a chance to show the world, the Blades execs, the fans, another side of Gio De Luca."

He looks at me for a long moment, his emerald eyes searching mine. At this close enough distance, I can feel the chill coming off his uniform. And yet, there's something warm in his gaze that stirs something inside of me.

Finally, he nods.

"Okay, Stalker. You've got yourself a deal. But on one condition."

I nod, almost afraid to move.

"You let me watch, read, and approve everything before it goes live," he says firmly, his eyes narrowed in warning.

It's not an ideal situation—no journalist wants their subject to have the final say on their work. But if this is what it takes to get the story, I'll take it.

"I'll make sure your agent has full access to what you need. As for your approval, I'll do my best to incorporate any changes you suggest. But ultimately, it's my story, De Luca." I hold up a hand when his brows lower in a glare. "Unless you'd like to be traded, or, I don't know, be released from your contract and spend the rest of your afternoons, doing that Joe Pesci impression in your OCD socks."

His jaw clenches. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

As for me, I have one final nail to drive into the coffin.

"Tell you what," I say, an idea starting to take root. "Come to Sal Carmine's event after your next game. If you still hate the idea of working with me after that, I'll walk away. No hard feelings."

Gio turns back to me. "Sal Carmine? The hockey legend?"

"The one and only. He's throwing a charity event. Lots of big names will be there."

I can see the temptation warring with his stubbornness.

"You're trying to seduce me with Sal Carmine? I'm flattered," he says with a smirk.

"Gio De Luca fact number six," I say, holding up five fingers. "You have a weakness for old-school hockey players with bigger hockey sticks than yours."

He barks out a laugh, and I can see him start to relax, a lock of dark hair falling forward onto his forehead. “Well played, Brookes. I’ll think about your little event," he finally says. "But I'm not making any promises."

Relief washes over me. It's not a yes, but it's not a no, either. It's about as good as I can get for now.

"Good enough for me,” I say. "I'll send you the details."

As I turn to leave, Gio calls out, "Brookes?"

I look back, raising an eyebrow.

"This doesn't change anything between us," he says, his voice hard. "We're not friends. We're not even colleagues. This is business. Nothing more."

I nod, ignoring the twinge in my chest. "You're sorely mistaken if you think I have any intention of being friends with someone like you, De Luca."

As I walk out of the rink, I can feel his eyes on me. I straighten my shoulders, keeping my head high.

This is just the beginning, I remind myself. The real challenge starts now.

But as I step out into the sunlight, I can't help but feel a spark of excitement. Gio De Luca might think he has me all figured out, but he has no idea what he's in for. And I can't wait to show him what I'm capable of.