Page 2 of Puck Lust

It’s ironic that I left California to escape and made a choice to come back and get swallowed by the past I’ve tried so hard to forget. But what can I do except play like my life depends on it?

I have a clear shot to Masterson. And since O’Callahan is practically on top of me, I know I should pass the puck now.

That’s what everyone expects.

That I’ll make the right move and show the world I’m not at all impacted by the inconvenient news that just broke about Sam and Brixton’s engagement.

But fuck that.

O’Callahan’s voice rattles my brain.

I do have something to prove.

So I avoid Van Kleef and don’t make the pass.

Instead, I turn my gaze toward the line of New York Renegades barreling toward me. All I have to do is break through the line and score the winning goal.

As I try to deke past the first defender, one of the players shoulder-checks me, knocking me off-balance. One of the New York defensemen intercepts it at the blue line and shoots the puck to their center.

Son of a bitch.

I skate toward him, but the wall of players blocks me.

New York takes the shot. The puck sails through the air. Tate, our goalie, makes a diving catch, blocking the puck. But one of the New York centers is waiting to take a quick wrist shot that beats Tate glove-side.

And New York scores with just two seconds left on the clock.

The red goal light flashes and the buzzer blares out.

I drop to my knee on the ice with a deep sigh, pressing my gloved hands to the sides of my helmet. They don’t do shit to block out the roaring boos from the crowd.

“Go back to New York. Fuck up their record,” an Oakland fan yells.

“Nah, you guys keep him. Let him keep sucking ass out here!”

I get up from the ice without bothering to look at the assholes harassing me. I deserve it. It was a total dickhead move. Shoulders slumping, I skate toward the edge of the ice, trying in vain to block out the annoying-as-fuck voices swarming my ears.

My nerves stretch a little bit more when I pass the New York team celebrating their win. And judging by the huge, shit-eating grin on O’Callahan’s face, it wasn’t just a win against Oakland that they’re celebrating. It’s beatingme.

I was a fucking star on that team. I owned the ice at Madison Square Garden. The guys were rightfully pissed when I decided to leave. I’d taken them to the championships ourlast season together, and the hope was that we’d make it to the Stanley Cup finals again this season.

Then I signed with Oakland.

And if it wasn’t bad enough that I was leaving New York, going to our biggest rival was like forcing them all to eat shit pie and ask for seconds.

The worst betrayal ever.

New York fans hate me, my old teammates hate me, Van Kleef definitely hates me, and I can’t seem to get my fucking head on straight. Tonight, I took a chance to claw myself out of the rut I created, but goddamn, was it a stupid one. And it cost us the game.

I can just predict the news headlines.

Except they’ll all be wrong.

Because nobody knows the real reason behind my half-assed playing.

I’ve tried for weeks to get out of my head, but the past is back to haunt me.

Just like I always knew it would be.

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