Revenge Puck (Shot at Love #1)

Chapter 2

2

Preston Lawrence

“ I t’s not a great time, Tommy. The bus just pulled up at the arena in Greensboro,” I tell my agent as my teammates all stand up from their seats to gather their things before heading into the Bobcats’ visiting team locker rooms.

“My sources tell me that management in D.C. is nervous.” One of the few things I like about my agent is that he gets right to the point without wasting my time. He’s also made me a ton of money.

“They’re nervous about winning the trophy? I wouldn’t be surprised. It has been nineteen years since the last time.”

“No, Preston, they’re not nervous about the championships. They’re nervous about you .”

“Me? Why? I’ve been playing longer than most guys on the team and won the trophy four years ago with the Wolverines.”

“Are you really asking why?” he huffs. “Every time you’ve faced Christian Riley, you’ve been ejected!”

I can’t help but wince since it’s true. Not my proudest moments. “I’ve only been ejected twice in five years.”

“Yes, and both times were when you played Riley and went after him! Tell me that’s not some kind of coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence. You know I hate that son of a bitch.”

“So, I’ve heard. Not to mention the shitstorm you caused last year when you punched a fan…”

“I was enjoying a day off with my family, and the jerk wouldn’t stop videoing us on his goddamn phone.”

“You’re a famous hockey player who never speaks a word to the press or on social media. Of course, fans are curious about your life…”

“My life is none of their business,” I grumble.

“It doesn’t work that way when you live in the spotlight, and you know it,” Tommy points out. “Why do you let shit like that bother you or let Riley get in your head when you know he’s doing it on purpose?”

I sit there silently on the now empty bus until he gives up on waiting for me to respond. He knows why.

Sighing, Tommy finally says, “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t get thrown out of today’s game, or any other game during the playoffs. If you do…”

“If I do, then what?”

“If you’re thrown out of a game, your bonus under the extended season clause of your contract goes down the drain.”

“What? All of it?”

“All of it. Not to mention D.C. probably won’t offer you an extension if you have to bow out early.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m part of the team that’s taking them to the playoffs for the first time in nearly two decades!”

“I know that, Pres. And they know your temper and brutality on the ice helped get them to this point. But management said they’re getting tired of waiting for you to become a team player.”

“What are you talking about? Hockey is always a team sport.”

“Pres, being a grumpy loner doesn’t win you any Mr. Congeniality awards in the locker room.”

“The guys respect me.”

“Sure, they respect you. You’re a vet with a record for bloodying and breaking the bones of opponents. That doesn’t mean they like you or want you to stick around another year chewing them out whenever they mess up.”

“We play hockey together. There’s no need for us to have sleepovers and braid each other’s beards,” I huff. “And if coach won’t tell them when they make mistakes, then how can they fix their shit if I don’t educate them?”

“I just wanted to warn you that if you do something stupid to get ejected, I think you’ll have to wait and hope another team will want to put up with your cranky ass.”

“I don’t want to leave D.C. You know I can’t.”

“I know that moving is a last resort. So, keep your head on straight during the finals and help the Warhawks win the championship trophy. Don’t waste a single minute in the penalty box for that prick Christian Riley. He’s not worth it.”

I wish keeping my fists out of Christian’s smug face was as easy as it sounds. It’s not.

Riley is the league’s golden boy. He scored more points than any other player during the regular season and is looking at a potential MVP award. That is, if the Bobcats weren’t going to lose the finals to us.

I don’t despise Riley just because he’s a good player. I hate him for a whole other list of reasons. Ones that date back to the days when we played together in the minor leagues.

There’s so much on the line now, though. Deep down I know I can’t screw this up, that Riley’s not worth losing a contract or my bonus money.

At the same time, whenever I see the asshole’s smug face, my anger just takes over and I lose my shit. All I want to do is hurt him. Winning the game isn’t nearly as important as that when we meet on the ice.

“Listen,” Tommy says. “I’ll put out some feelers, try to get another team to make an offer before the playoffs are over. Best case, it’ll light a fire under D.C.’s ass, make them wake up and want to keep you around instead of losing you to a team they may have to face. Worst, at least you’ll have backup options in case they pull the plug.”

“Do what you need to do, but I’m not leaving D.C.,” I tell my agent before ending the call.