Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I forgot about the officials waiting to drag me off the ice. The remaining officials are now shoving me out of the way, as doctors rush onto the ice to look at Dean and the linesman I knocked out cold. Everything around me becomes a blur. My teammates surround me, screaming words I can’t make out.
Some of the Flyers are circling us, with their gloves off and sticks laid down, hoping to get a clean shot at me. My teammates assemble around me to block the other players, even though I don’t need them to shield me from the beating I now deserve. The last player who hit a linesman lost a month’s worth of pay and earned a hefty suspension.
Was knocking out Dean Crawford worth the money? You bet your ass.
Before tonight, I was already one of the deadliest defensemen in the NHL. This fight only solidifies my bad boy persona that keeps players at a distance. My dad will be pissed. But I don’t care. Smashing my fist into Dean’s face was cathartic.
Ever since my dad’s retirement from the league, he’s worked as a commentator for the NHL Network. An incident of this magnitude makes him look bad, especially when he’s the one analyzing this game, probably at this very second. Oops! Sorry, not sorry, Dad.
As I exit the rink, I don’t bother to look at a single person. I can sense my coach’s disapproving scowl without looking over at him. I have a habit of acting before I think. Now, it’s time to face the consequences.
After I got ejected from the game, the league suspended me for twenty-games. I wish I could say that I regret what I did. I should feel bad for busting open Dean’s pretty face.
My coach slams the door behind him, leaving me alone with Tom Hartwell, the Capitals general manager. Coach laid into me for an hour. He’s furious with me but made it clear he wants me back on the ice.
Tom leans forward and folds his hands in front of him with an intimidating stare. “I have good news and bad news.”
My heart races so fast I can hardly breathe as it attempts to claw its way out of my chest. I cross my arms and lean back in my chair to get comfortable.
“Just rip off the Band-Aid and give it to me straight,” I say.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I talked to the owner, smoothed things over, but this is your last chance.”
I tap my fingers on the chair. “What about playoffs? Will I still be eligible to play?”
“You’ll be back in time… as long as you agree to our terms.” His stare is hard and cold. “Considering what you did, you’re getting off easy.”
Annoyed, I groan. “You call twenty games without pay or play easy?”
“Your father had a lot to do with the leniency this organization has shown you. I’ve known Nick since we were rookies. He was a good player and an even better man. I respect him, and so I’m willing to work with you on this matter. The owner is sick of this shit. There was talk about trading you to another team. You’re becoming too much of a liability.”
My mouth drops in horror. “Not a trade. I won’t go.”
“You don’t have a choice. Violating the rules revokes some of the provisions in your contract, making it a lot easier to send you to another team. But I fought for you. Your agent went to bat for you, too. Consider this your last straw. You have to work with me. No more messing around, Duke.”
“Anything,” I stammer.
I can’t lose my position on this team. My teammates are like brothers to me. We’re a unit, a family.
“Once a week, until your suspension is lifted, you’re going to anger management.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “You want me to go to therapy?” I shake my head. “No, I’m not spilling my guts to some doctor. My dad tried that shit after my mom died. It doesn’t work on me.”
“I don’t care if it works,” he growls.
“Twenty games… but that’s over two months of therapy.”
He shrugs against his chair, his broad shoulders more prominent in the pale blue oxford that hugs his thick chest. Like me, Tom is a big guy and just as muscular as he was in his prime.
“This is your only option. Enter treatment or face a possible trade. You don’t want to end up like Alex Parker, do you? Look at where messing with the owner had gotten him.”
I mull over his words for a few seconds and then nod. Alex Parker, my former teammate, confused the owner’s granddaughter for a puck bunny. They had a sex tape of them in a hotel elevator as proof. Talk about embarrassing. Plus, it wasn’t his first scandal, and this isn’t my first suspension for fighting.