3. Chapter 3

The arena has always been my canvas, the ice a slipstream of possibility under the keen blade of my skates. I surged forward, weaving through defenders with the grace of a seasoned ballet dancer and the precision of a master chess player. The crowd"s roartry to echoed, mirroring the thundering of my own heart – this was where I belonged.

"Look at that move!" someone shouted from the stands, their voice almost lost in a sea of screaming and cheering.

I waved at my fans, watching as the student section of the stands smiled and waved back. I loved the feeling of hearing my name chanted on their lips. It was electric and put me on a high that no drug could ever match. A few people booed from the opponent"s side, but I did my best to ignore them.

I've been on fire lately on the ice. I'm working hard to fulfill my new position and keeping my temper in check. One thing about me: I have a temper that I do my best to control when I'm with my team. In high school, I almost lost my place on my hockey team for getting into fights with unruly fans or guys on opposite teams. Topher, Tripp, and Jace would always have my back, but as we began getting scouted, it was clear that I had to stop acting out.

I saw the way guys would try and tempt me to fight, but I would always skate away. Don't get me wrong; I loved a good on-ice fair fight. That's just part of hockey. But it's the after-game or bar fight that tends to get me into trouble.

Still, I managed to stay out of trouble all season and I did my best to keep that record going.

"We've still got sixty seconds left," Tripp yelled at me as he skated past.

I watched as the defender on the other team skated toward me, and I moved into position. He had the puck, and I was ready to stop him from scoring. I was working through my first game as a goalie. When our regular goalie got injured, I was the only one on the team with experience. Topher, my coach, mentor, and life-long best friend, had taught me every position on the ice. I was ready for this. Tonight's game would truly show Coach and my team that I could play any position they handed me. I had to just keep my eyes on the puck.

"Logan, get ready," Jace yelled, as he knocked another opponent away.

The guy skating toward me smiled as he pulled his stick back and struck the puck. He was good, but I was better. "Hey, fuck you, Logan," he jested, trying to rile me up.

I watched as he struck the puck, his eyes cast on me, and not his hit. I readied myself, and when he swung back, the black puck came flying toward me. I jumped into the air, using my body as a shield to block the puck. As the puck struck, I heard the crowd roar, and I knew the game was over.

We won!

I slid onto the ice as my team approached. This was the shit I lived for.

"You are a real piece of shit, you know that?" the defender yelled as I got back to my feet.

He skated over to me, throwing his helmet off. I could see in his eyes that he was ready for a fight. I didn't engage, instead, I just smiled and blew him a kiss.

"Ignore that bastard," Tripp said, patting me on the back.

"We fucking won!" Jace shouted, reminding me that the other team was pissed and clearly being sore losers.

"You got lucky tonight, asshole. Next time, I will kick your ass on and off the ice," the guy taunted again.

Turning, I knew that I should ignore him. We won, and it was time to celebrate with our fans. However, when I felt a shove from behind, I stumbled forward on my skates, and I felt anger brewing inside of me.

"Hey, go cry to your coach!" I yelled at the guy. He wasn't even a big-name player, so I had no clue who he was other than that his jersey read 42.

He reared back, his fist ready to land on my face. I shifted to my right, and he missed me by an inch. I could hear the rest of my team coming toward us as Tripp and Jace shoved at the other team. Everyone was heading to us, ready for a fight.

"Let it go, Logan," Tripp warned, as he held back another guy.

"Back off. You lost, let it go!" I yelled to the other team as I threw off my own helmet and gloves.

Suddenly, I was shoved from behind, and I slid right into number 42. Grabbing the front of my jersey, he pulled me close to him as he tried to kick me.

"You Hawks think that you are better than us. Maybe you need to be removed from your own pedestal," the guy sneered.

Now I was pissed. The high of our win quickly changed to anger as adrenaline flooded me. I threw a punch, landing on his face, and I felt pain as blood splattered all over my face. Before I knew what was happening, we were all fighting, throwing punches at anyone who dared to get near us.

It wasn't until security, our coaches, and the Sunnyvale police broke us up that we all calmed down and skated back to our respective benches. I had no idea how any of this had transpired. We won our game and were ready to celebrate. Then, the next moment, we were being accosted by a bunch of crybabies. Fuck, we had messed up.

No, I had messed up.

I shouldn't have let that guy get under my skin.

Coach was going to be pissed. I had just gotten back into his good graces after the night I got arrested for destroying the hotel room. My reputation is on the downfall, and now, I'm going to be in more shit than ever before.

***

Once we were in the locker room, everything went from bad to worse.

Silence hung heavy in the air as we all showered and dressed. Coach stood before us, glaring daggers at me.

"I was hoping we could have used this time to talk about what a great game you all played, but instead, I have to go do damage control with our new PR team because some of you can't control your anger," Coach yelled, his eyes cast on me.

Topher stood next to him, giving me a disappointed look that hurt worse than anything Coach could say. I hated to upset Topher.

Once we were released from the locker room, we all quickly retreated toward the door. Coach had removed all media from talking to us, and even Sadie, Tripp's fiancé, wasn't allowed to interview any of us. Fuck, I had really messed up. The Hawks had been through enough drama in the media, and I knew how important it was to keep my cool on the ice.

As I moved to the door, Coach Carl yelled at me. "Logan, I want you in my office at ten sharp tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir," I say. My heart thuds in my chest. Lately, it has felt like I've been scrutinized by the coaches. I haven't been in the best light, and I think I have finally screwed up.

Sighing, Coach walked over and stood in front of me. "You"ve got scouts looking at you, opportunities at your doorstep, and you"re out here treating your career like it"s a post-game party."

Today was the first time he had ever referred to hockey as my career and not just a game. Damn, when he said it like that, it made it feel that much more serious.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

Nodding, Coach just gave me a sour look. "I sure hope so." He finally turned and left me alone.

Wincing, I knew that I was about to get my ass handed to me tomorrow. I wasn't proud of my actions tonight. I have spent years working on my anger issues. Only Topher knows the therapy and personal time I have had to go through to learn how to handle stress and subside my anger. Now, I had ruined all that progress because some asshole got under my skin.