Power Pucking Play (Chicago Blades)

9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Gio

T he roar of the crowd fades to a dull hum as I take my position on the ice. It's game time, and I've got more than just the opposing team to worry about.

Lexi goddamned Brookes is perched rinkside, camera crew in tow, looking like she's ready to document my every move. Great. Just great.

"Eyes on the prize, De Luca," I mutter to myself, trying to focus.

The whistle blows, and we're off. I weave through the opposition, my mind zeroing in on the puck and nothing else. For a blissful few minutes, I forget about nosy reporters and complicated feelings.

Then I catch a glimpse of Lexi out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of every move I make. Am I skating weird? Do I look as off-balance as I feel?

"De Luca! Head in the game!" Coach bellows from the bench.

Right. Focus. I've got this.

I manage to intercept a pass, racing down the ice toward the goal. The defenseman coming at me is built like a brick wall, but I've faced worse. I duck around him, winding up for a shot…

And that's when I see it. Tommy, the kid from earlier, jumping up and down in the stands, wearing my jersey and cheering his heart out.

For a split second, I'm distracted. It's enough. The defenseman slams into me, sending me sprawling across the ice.

"Shit," I hiss, scrambling to my feet. Jacob recovers the puck, but he's in trouble. Three opposing players are converging on him quickly.

I don't think. I just move.

I barrel into the fray, throwing my weight around to clear a path for Jacob. He manages to get the shot off, but not before one of their guys catches me with an elbow to the ribs.

Pain explodes in my side, but I ignore it. The crowd's going wild.

Jacob scored. That's all that matters.

Or so I think, until I turn and see the other team's enforcer bearing down on me, fists raised.

"Oh, for fu…" I don't even get to finish the thought before his fist connects with my jaw.

And just like that, all hell breaks loose.

Gloves hit the ice. Fists fly. The refs blow their whistles, but it's too late. This is a full-blown brawl now.

I give as good as I get, my knuckles stinging as they connect with the first guy's face.

Soon, I'm taking on two guys at once, ducking and weaving as punches rain down on me. It's chaos, a mess of limbs and curses, and the distant sound of the ref's whistle.

When it's finally over, I'm nursing a split lip and what's sure to be one hell of a shiner. But the other guy looks worse, so I'll call it a win.

As I skate to the penalty box, I catch sight of Lexi. She's staring at me, hazel eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

For some reason, that stings more than my bruised ribs.

I give her a grin, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. But inside, I'm seething. This is my game, my passion. And some punk from another team just tried to ruin it for me.

It’s part of the game. Hockey is a rough sport, full of hard hits and brutal fights. It takes a special kind of person to thrive in this environment.

It's a better environment than the one I grew up in—one where my own parents didn't give a damn about me, let alone my dreams of playing professional hockey.

But here, on the ice, I have a brotherhood. A team that has my back no matter what. We may fight and bicker off the ice, but when we step onto that rink, we're united in one goal: to win.

Unless...the Blades organization trades me like they've apparently planned to do.

The rest of the game is a blur. We lose, no thanks to my little stunt in the first period. As I trudge off the ice, I can feel Coach's glare burning a hole in the back of my head.

"De Luca! My office, now!"

I nearly wince, following him to the locker room. This ought to be fun.

"What the hell was that out there?" Coach demands as soon as the door closes behind us. "I thought we talked about controlling your temper!"

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my lips. He's right. I screwed up. And now I'm facing the consequences.

"I'm sorry, Coach." I’ve gotten really good at staring a hole in the floor. "I'll make it right."

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "I'm trying hard here, De Luca. I really am. And you're making it fucking impossible."

I sigh, guilt crawling into my throat and camping there. Coach has been trying to keep me in line ever since I joined the Blades organization, and I just keep letting him down.

But then again, it's not like they're treating me like a valuable player. The trade rumors have been swirling around for weeks now, and with each game that passes without a solid performance from me, they only seem to grow louder.

"Look, I know I haven't been at my best lately," I start, finally lifting my gaze to meet Coach's. "But it's not like you guys have been treating me like a valuable player, either."

Coach's eyebrows arch. "What are you talking about?"

"The trade rumors," I say, unable to hold back the bitterness in my voice. "I hear them all the time. It's hard to focus on the game when I don't even know if I'll be with this team tomorrow."

Coach looks taken aback for a moment before his expression turns into one of understanding. "I see your point, De Luca," he sighs again and leans his palms against his desk, "but you have to understand that it's not personal. It's just business."

I know he's right. I've been in this game long enough to know that trades happen all the time and players are just commodities. But it still stings knowing that I could be shipped off at any moment.

"I'll do better," I say.

"You'd better. It's not just me you're letting down." He gestures in the air. "It's your teammates. Your fans. The whole org. I may give a shit, but those higher up, they'll drop you in an instant if you don't start producing."

For a second, Lexi's face flashes in my mind.

The disappointment. The disbelief.

I know she doesn't understand why I play this game. Why I put my body through so much pain and punishment for a silly puck and stick.

But to me, it's more than just a game. It's my escape. My way of proving myself to the world, to those who never believed in me. It's everything to me. My lifeline.

At last, I nod at Coach, feeling about two inches tall. My jaw clenches, my mouth bone dry. "I'm working on making things right as we speak.

"You better." Coach straightens and gives me a hard look. "Now, hit the showers. And ice that eye. You look like hell."

As I turn to leave, he calls out.

"Oh, and De Luca?"

"Yeah, Coach?"

"That reporter of yours is waiting outside. Try not to give her any more ammunition, all right?"

Shit. Just what I need.

I step out of the office to find Lexi leaning against the wall, notepad in hand. Ever the sports journalist, always on the hunt for a good story.

Her golden-green eyes widen slightly when she sees my face.

"Jesus, De Luca," she breathes.

"Nice to see you too, Brookes."

"You look like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder."

I force a smirk, ignoring the way it pulls at my split lip. "You should see the other guy."

She doesn't laugh. Instead, she just looks...tired. "What happened out there, Gio?"

I bristle at her tone. "What, are you my shrink now? I thought you were here to document the 'bad boy of hockey', not psychoanalyze me."

Lexi's eyes narrow. "I'm trying to understand, you jackass. One minute, you're Mr. Nice Guy with that kid, and the next you're starting brawls on the ice. Which is the real you?"

For a moment, I'm tempted to tell her the truth. To explain about the pressure, the expectations, the constant battle between who I am and who everyone wants me to be.

Instead, I just shrug. "Guess you'll have to keep digging to find out, Brookes."

As I brush past her toward the locker room, I can feel her eyes on me. But I don't look back.

I can't afford to let her see any more of the real me than she already has.