Page 8 of Puck Lust

It was theonefucking time I tried to open myself up to someone.

Not even Sam knows the truth about my past.

Blood rushes between my ears.

I came so close to losing everything, to being stuck in hell forever.

Too close.

I had to get out so I did whatever I could to guarantee my future.

Things I’m not proud of. Things that could fuck up my career if it ever came out.

I sure as hell wasn’t gonna stick around and let anything or anyone jeopardize my chance to play in the NHL.

Squaring my shoulders, I walk through the darkened halls until I get to Coach Enver’s office. It’s right next to the weight training room. He likes to be close to the action, so he barely ever uses his fancy office on the upper level of the arena, except when he’s signing deals or taking meetings with prospects or management.

I hold up my fist and pause for a second before knocking, a familiar thought slithering through my brain like a venomous snake.

I fucking hate my life.

Gritting my teeth, I knock on the heavy metal door. The sound echoes in the desolate space.

“Come in.” Coach Enver’s gruff voice, slightly muffled, hits my ears and with the weight of lead chains wrapped around my shoulders, I twist the handle and push open the door.

He adjusts his cap, glaring at me from under the brim. Nodding at a metal chair in front of the desk, he grunts, “Sit.”

My blade guards thump against the floor and he raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t make it to the locker room?”

I give a half shrug. “Got attacked by the press before I could get inside.”

His lips pull into a tight line. “I hope you didn’t give ’em anything I’m gonna have to address at the press conference. I already have enough to clean up because of that stunt you pulled at the end of the game. Care to explain what the hell you were thinking?”

I bring a hand to the back of my neck. The stress knot tightens under my fingertips like a stubborn little bitch.

What the hell am I supposed to say? I did it to prove that I’m a star, that fans should still love me even though I left New York, that I’m the only chance the Raptors have at claiming the Stanley Cup?

Or maybe, that everyone should love me because thepeople who are actually supposed to love me don’t give a good goddamn about me?

Hell fucking no.

That’s my baggage and I don’t unpack that shit for anyone.

I came close once and it was one time too much.

“I was trying to make a good showing for our first game against New York.”

Enver raises a thick eyebrow. “And you think steamrolling the guys on your own team in front of your old team was a good way to make that happen?”

My shoulders sag. “I saw a shot and I took it.”

“Wasn’t your shot to take. It was Van Kleef’s puck.”

And here we go.

“I know you guys played junior hockey together back in the day, and I know there was talk of some rivalry, bad blood after you got drafted to San Mateo. But I took a risk by offering you guys these spots on the team, figuring all of that was in the past.” Enver comes around to the front of his desk and sits on the edge. He folds his beefy arms over his chest. “Don’t give me a reason to regret my decision. I don’t need any past bullshit to cause damage to my team. I want it fixed.”

My head snaps up and I narrow my eyes. “So why am I the one in here? Why not him? Yeah, I stole a shot tonight, but why’s it up to me to fix things for you? Me fixing my end doesn’t mean he’s gonna forget whatever he’s hanging onto.”

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