Puck You (PUCK IT ALL #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Traded.

Well, wasn't that the biggest puck you a team could hand a guy after three years?

Eric stared at the phone in his hand as if the message might magically disappear if he glared hard enough.

Three years. Three years of blood, sweat, bruises, road trips, and playing through injuries he probably should've sat out.

Three years of helping build chemistry with the team, memorizing every weird bounce of the boards, every favorite dive bar, every shortcut through the city.

And for what?

One lousy missed shot.

One missed meeting.

Okay, maybe he had been late to a few practices.

But seriously? That was enough to ship him off?

Apparently so.

Now he was headed to Arizona.

Arizona.

The word alone sounded wrong.

What did Arizona even have besides cacti, rattlesnakes, and enough heat to melt the rubber off a hockey puck? The state seemed better suited for cowboys than professional athletes. As far as Eric knew, hockey and Arizona belonged together about as much as ice cubes and bonfires.

He snorted bitterly.

"Which is fitting," he muttered under his breath. "Because both my career and Hell just froze over."

The empty locker room echoed around him.

A few lockers stood open, abandoned after practice. The smell of sweat, tape, and equipment lingered in the air. Normally it was comforting. Familiar. Today it felt like walking through the remains of a life he'd just lost.

Eric scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, still wet from the shower. His jaw tightened.

He should've said something.

When management had called him into the office and delivered the news, he'd sat there and taken it like a professional. Nodded. Signed paperwork. Listened to all the corporate nonsense about "new opportunities" and "fresh starts."

Fresh starts…

What a load of crap.

The temptation to tell the coach exactly where he could shove those opportunities had been overwhelming. Somehow he'd managed to bite his tongue.

Barely.

Now all that remained was cleaning out his locker.

Years of memories were reduced to a duffel bag and a cardboard box.

This was going to disrupt everything. His life, his dreams, his party places… and his booty calls – because let’s face facts – he liked to have sex.

A lot.

No commitments, no clingy girls, just a fun bit of fucking that scratched an itch like last week when he accidently crashed his friends place and then joined in on the fun.

God, that had been so hot. He loved a powerful woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.

Hefting his bag over his shoulder, he tossed a wistful look back toward the almost-empty locker room and made his way out the door to catch his flight.

Swallowing back a lump in his throat, Eric hesitated.

Ahead of him waited a new city. A new team.

New coaches. New expectations. New teammates who'd probably already formed their own friendships and inside jokes.

This was a new place, a new team, a new home – and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was stuck, trapped, as long as he wanted to play hockey.

Hefting his duffel bag over one shoulder, Eric paused in the doorway and cast one final glance around the locker room.

The space that had been filled with laughter, trash talk, and the familiar chaos of teammates only hours ago now sat nearly empty.

A few forgotten tape rolls littered the floor, and the faint scent of sweat and ice lingered in the air.

It felt strange seeing it so quiet, knowing it would be the last time he stood here as part of this team.

His chest tightened.

This chapter of his life was over.

Swallowing hard, Eric shifted his weight and forced himself to take a step forward.

Beyond those doors waited a flight to a city he'd never imagined calling home, a team filled with strangers, and a future he hadn't chosen for himself.

The trade papers had been signed. The decision had been made.

Whether he liked it or not, his life had changed overnight.

For a moment, he stood frozen between the past and the future.

Every instinct told him to look back. To hold on a little longer.

To somehow cling to the place where he'd built friendships, routines, and memories that had become as familiar as breathing.

But hockey didn't care about sentiment. It didn't care about comfort.

Players came and went. Teams changed. Careers moved on.

And if he wanted to keep playing the game he loved, he had no choice but to move with it.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"Big boy pants, Eric."

His grandmother's voice echoed clearly in his head, just as it had every time life had knocked him sideways. She'd never had much patience for self-pity.

The memory eased some of the ache in his chest.

Drawing in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. Maybe he couldn't control where he played. Maybe he couldn't change the trade or the circumstances that had brought him here.

But he could control what happened next.

This was a new city.

A new team.

A new beginning.

And if he had to start over, then he'd do it the same way he'd done everything else in his life—one shift, one day, one challenge at a time.

With renewed determination, Eric turned away from the locker room and headed toward the exit, leaving the past behind and stepping into whatever waited for him next.