Page 43 of Misconduct Zone

The puck is at their skates, but I don’t slow or get my stick in position; I barrel into the Montreal’s defender. “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” I taunt and attempt to skate away, but he tears off his gloves and comes at me. This fucker will not touch Dylon again. Not tonight, not ever. The fight blurs with punches and wrestling moves. By the time I get to the sin bin, my nose is bleeding and Coach screams at me.

At least the defender is in with me, so it’s not a power play.

Dylon and Ace finish their shift, and Dylon shakes his head at me, frowning before grabbing water. Ace mouths “cut the shit” on the other side of the glass.

I took it too far this time. My team needs the best from me, and I check my emotions to focus on scoring.

We fight hard, but they’re determined not to lose at home. I have become their favorite target, which I don’t mind, provided they stay off Dylon. I will take their hits all game.

“You good?” Dylon fist-bumps me after our shift and a hard hit behind the goal.

“All good,” I lie, but the twinge in my leg will be fine after resting a few minutes.

They tie the game with thirty seconds left, and the game goes into sudden death. Ace, Griff, and I take the first shift. Dylon unconsciously rubs his shoulder. Coach can tell he’s not a hundred percent.

I win the face-off and pass it off to Griff. Once I’m in position, he launches it back to me. As I’m approaching the goal, pain flares and my left leg drags for a second, sending me slightly off balance, and the goalie makes the save.

Grayson meets me at the boards. “I want you on my table after the game.”

I hang my head, hoping we score.

Patrik blocks their attempt like a ninja, and we’re back in the game.

Dylon’s over the boards and fights for the puck. He’s tangled up right outside the crease but manages to get a shot off. I hold my breath until the goal judge signals we’ve won the game. The bench empties onto the ice for the celebration.

The crowd files out, silent and stunned.

Dylon barrels toward me but stops short so he doesn’t hurt me. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Grayson will check out my leg. I am sure it’s fine.”

I hate being in the training room, but it’s even worse on the road. Grayson manipulates my leg and presses in to find where it hurts. “Nothing serious.” He massages my groin.

“Sorry to interrupt this party. Should I get popcorn or record this? How far are you going to let him go, Drake?” Dylon teases from the doorway.

“Watch it or I’ll make you massage him tonight,” Grayson fires back.

Dylon raises an eyebrow, and I cannot let my mind go there.

“You should be fine if you rest for a day. I’ll tell Coach you’re out for tomorrow’s skate. Ice it tonight, keep it elevated, and I’ll give you some compression wraps.” Grayson hands a bunch of supplies to Dylon.

“Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him out of bed.”

“I’ll tie him down if necessary.” Dylon grins as if excited about the possibility, but my missed shot dampens my mood.

“Lemme check your shoulder.” Grayson pats the table when I stand.

“It’s fine,” Dylon grumbles.

“If you were all as fine as you claim, I’d be out of a job.” Grayson examines his shoulder. “You’ll live. Use a heat pack at the hotel.” He throws him one and dismisses us.

Dylon wraps an arm around my waist to help me to the locker room.

“I can do it on my own,” I complain, annoyed about my minor injury.

“But why would you want to? Stop sulking and enjoy the fact that I’ve been given strict orders to be in your hotel room, pinning you to the bed. If you play your cards right, I’ll even massage your groin better than Grayson,” he says with innuendo. “Get your head out of your ass, and I’ll put mine there instead.”

Dylon proceeds to take very good care of me after I adjust my attitude.

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