Page 2 of The Puck Daddy

Nine years later…

Adrian

As soon as my blades hit the ice for today’s game, I knew something was off with our team. Usually, we barely have to look at each other to anticipate one another’s movements. Our chemistry on and off the ice is a thing of beauty, and any other day, I can easily say that the Ice Dragons are more than just a college hockey team. We’re family.

But today? It’s as if we’re strangers playing together for the first time. Or more accurately, it’s as if we’re all a bunch of newborn deer trying to walk on ice. Disastrous.

With cheers of encouragement ringing out, the crowd in the arena tries to boost our spirits. For them, the game is exciting; this deep into the third period, the score can go either way. But for us, it’s a stark reminder that we aren’t at our best. Any professional eye can tell you our defense is off.

“Get your head out of your ass,” Callaway yells as he skates by. “We need you.”

“Ditto, jackass,” I yell back. Callaway grins at me over his shoulder, index finger tapping his helmet. I shake my head, making images of last night’s party come to mind, and I try not to wince. Damn, Coach is going to kill us. We may have partied just a little too hard, and it’s clearly messing with our performance today. Thank god I didn’t drink my weight in shots like some of the juniors did.

Instead, I was up all night making sure my team got home in one piece. Sometimes, volunteering to be the designated driver sucks ass. And doing it the night before a game is just pure insanity.Never again.

I need to focus on the game. This is my last semester at Brynn U and my chance at making a good impression. Olivia Cove may have drafted me two years ago, but they haven’t signed me yet. Which means my dreams of being in the NHL are close, yet still so far away. One wrong move can just as easily fuck it up.

The game and my grades. Nothing else matters until I graduate.

Down to the wire at 2-2, the next ten minutes are painful with a lot of missed shots, sending the game into overtime. I might not be hungover, but I’m tired as hell and it definitely shows. Fortunately for us, we have five minutes to turn this game around.

As if the hockey gods decided to bless me with their presence, an opening presents itself just in time for me to make eye contact with Rizzo. With a barely there nod, one second the puck is with him, and the next it’s settled against my stick in a breakaway.

Letting all my instincts take control, I pick up speed. Heart pumping, and blades hitting the ice, I hurdle across the rink. Thanks to our quick thinking and tons of practice, Rizzo and I have finally regained the chemistry that has been missing all game.

Thank fuck.

The moment I spot my opening, all the blood rushes to my head as time seems to slow down and speed up all at once. The quick sweep of my stick against the ice is like music to my ears. The crowd erupts into a loud cheer as I score the winning goal with a wrist shot.

Suddenly, my team is there cheering, jumping, and surrounding me with fist-pounding hugs and bumping helmets. “Hell yeah!” I scream in excitement. “Let’s go.”

“Fucking knew you’d do it,” Nelson yells somewhere off to my right. I make eye contact with Rizzo, and he’s giving me thisgoofy shit-eating grin. The growing cheers of the crowd drown out Rizzo’s words, but it doesn’t matter. I already know how he feels, and I’m pretty sure we’re thinking the same thing. I grin back. We fucking did it!

“Adrian! Adrian, a moment of your time, please.” I glance up to see Brynn U’s sports blogger, Chrissy Newman, dressed to the nines in a sexy red dress and a dazzling smile on her face. Used to her line of questioning, I pause by Chrissy’s side.

As soon as her regular cameraman, Ronny, begins recording, she immediately launches into her interview questions.

“Chrissy Newman here with Adrian DeLuca, Brynn College’s Center for the Ice Dragons. Adrian just scored tonight’s game-winning goal. How does it feel to win three games in a row, Adrian?” Instead of the usual mic you see on TV, she holds onto this tiny little thing that looks more like a weird makeup brush.

I smile back, making eye contact with her. “It feels pretty damn good, Chrissy,” I say, leaning into her strange mic. “As soon as I saw my shot, I had to take it.”

“New rumors have been circulating as to why Olivia Cove drafted you to their NHL team when you were twenty, but still haven’t offered you a contract. That was almost two years ago, and you still haven’t been signed. Are you worried about your chances of getting into the NHL?”

I grit my teeth and try not to roll my eyes. These interviews are always about staying in control and answering questions in a positive, or at the very least, neutral way. “This is my last semester at Brynn U, and if everything goes according to plan, I hope to join Olivia Cove’s training camp as soon as I graduate. When I was originally drafted, Olivia Cove and I agreed I would benefit from the extra on-ice playing experience to help further develop my skills as a center.” They also appreciated the fact that I wanted to take care of my younger brother and graduate with him at the same time. Olivia Cove is known for its family beliefs and diversity. It’s one of the reasons they’re my favorite team.

“The last two games, you scored an impressive—and often elusive—hat trick, but tonight was different. The team seemed a little off. What was going on?”

I open my mouth to speak, but see Coach Wilson staring at me with his lips pressed into a firm line. He’s leaning against the wall just in front of the tunnel, waiting for me to head to the lockers.

Chrissy, like the little shark she is, must smell something in the water because she immediately starts talking again. “Does this have anything to do with last night’s escapades and the crazy party at Delfy House?”

My mouth falls open.

“Or maybe it’s about the video of you from the party that went viral this morning.”

What the fuck? What video? My mind whirls, searching for an explanation. Suddenly, Coach is next to me, and I feel like the little kid who got caught doing something naughty. Only, I have no idea what the hell Chrissy is talking about, and I hate not knowing what is going on.

“DeLuca!” Coach barks, causing me to jump. “Lockers. Now,” he says as he storms back into the tunnel and out of sight.

---