“Oh, you’re a dead man.” He immediately follows me, cutting me off and dropping his stick to the ice. “Do you hear me?” He shakes his gloves from his hands and begins circling me.

I smile and drop my stick and gloves. “Well, I’m still tired from banging your mom, but I guess I can spare a few seconds.”

The crowd sees what’s happening and immediately roars its collective approval.

“I’m gonna enjoy beating your geriatric ass.” He circles in closer with his fists clenched.

This asshole has been chirping at me the entire game, and I’ve had enough. He needs to learn a lesson, and I’ll happily educate him.

“You’re all talk,” I say, keeping my hands noticeably low to lure him in. “Unlike your mother last night.”

“Fuck you.” He’s heard enough. He stops circling me and shoots straight in with his arms flailing. He’s lost his temper now and isn’t thinking clearly.

I love it when they do that.

I stay calm and let him come to me, shooting my left hand in hard and grabbing the collar of his jersey as soon as he’s within reach. The sudden halt to his momentum leaves him off balance for a split second, just enough time for me to land a quick uppercut to his chin. It’s not the hardest punch, but it’s not meant to be.

Too many young scrappers coming up in the league think they need to put everything they have into every single punch, and Adams is no different. He’s swinging wild, huffing and puffing, trying to knock me out with every punch. But that’s not how it works on the ice—not with me.

The uppercut I land is just enough to pop his head up and rattle him. And this is where I see my opening.

I switch from stiff arming him and keeping him at a distance to yanking him back in the opposite direction—toward me and my right fist. I unleash a rapid-fire barrage of straight right haymakers, peppering his face Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots style.

By the time I connect with a ninth and final blow to his now crimson face, Adams isn’t even fighting back. He’s just clutching my shirt and waiting to fall. So I let him.

As soon as he hits the ice, the officials approach and start herding me toward the penalty box. The crowd cheers wildly as I slowly circle around Adams on my way. “Welcome to the league, rookie.”

I watch as he angrily spits blood onto the ice beneath him and looks up at me, now missing a front tooth. “Athhole.”

On the bus ride back to the hotel it was decided we’d hang out in Kaiden’s room and order food. When we arrived, we briefly went our separate ways to change into something more comfortable. Now Murphy is questioning whether we ordered enough food from room service.

“If we need more, we can get it. They’re open until one a.m.,” Ryder says.

Darius opens the mini bar, pulling out beers and passing them to the five of us. “Did you remember to order more beer? These won’t last long.”

Kaiden nods before he takes a sip from the green bottle.

I set mine down on the nightstand. “Before the food arrives, I have something to tell you guys.”

“If you’re about to tell us you’re requesting a trade, I’m going to beat your ass,” Murphy says.

“Seriously? I love playing with you guys.”

Murphy puts his hand over his heart. “For fuck’s sake. You had me worried.”

“We love having you on the team,” Kaiden says.

“You all know what happened with me and Destiny, right?” I ask.

“Who doesn’t know about that?” Ryder asks.

“Yeah, even my grandmother asked me if you were okay,” Murphy says.

“Then you can understand why I might find it frustrating that the media is still discussing the situation. And with Destiny and Garret together, it makes me look like the sorry jackass who’s all alone and depressed.”

Murphy nods. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I laugh. At least now I can find the humor in it. “My little sister made a suggestion about what I should do to change the media’s perception of me. My neighbor, Lucy, has been looking for local professional athletes to be on her TV show.”