Nate scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”
“You put a guy in the hospital,” Delaney snapped. “Orbital fracture. Concussion. The League’s calling it reckless conduct.”
“He had his head down,” Nate said, jaw tightening. “That’s survival.”
“Nate,” Sully said, his voice low, “you hit him like you wanted him dead.”
Nate dragged a hand through his damp hair, muscles thrumming with fury. His team nickname was ‘The Wall’. Brick. And no one minded him being blunt, brutish and brutal when it suited them. And when it didn’t? He was the fucking fall guy.
“So I’m the bad guy again,” he said with a breath of unamusedlaughter. “You want me to kiss the guy’s booboo? Buy him an ice pack?”
Silence fell, heavy as a puck drop.
“This is your problem, Eriksson,” Delaney said. “You don’t know when to stop.”
Nate smirked. “That’s why you signed me.”
“We signed an enforcer,” Delaney shot back. “You’re a goddamned liability.”
The word landed hard. Nate straightened, posture snapping sharp as a whistle. The smile vanished. Three months off the ice was bad enough. Being dead weight on a sinking team was worse.
“I’m done listening to this bullshit. So what? I sit out until next season? Great. I’ll work on my knitting.”
Sully cleared his throat. “We’re sending you to LA.”
Nate stilled. “Why?”
“A little brand rehab,” Delaney said, as if that explained anything. “Prime-time redemption arc. PR gold.”
Sully grimaced. “You’re going to sign a contract forTake the Floor.”
Silence. Nate blinked.
“The dance show?” he said, voice low with disbelief.
“The dance show,” Delaney confirmed, smiling now, the bastard. “You’ll partner with a professional, go through the weekly eliminations, build your sob story. America loves a reformed bad boy.”
“Let me get this straight.” Nate took a step forward. “You want me, a six-foot-four, 220-pound enforcer with two missing teeth and a minor assault charge, to waltz my way to career salvation?”
“Exactly.” Delaney handed him a glossy folder. Bright logo. Too much glitter.Take the Floor.Smiling faces, rehearsed joy, teeth that hurt to look at. “You want to stay here? This is the price.”
The rink felt smaller. Three months benched. A team circling the drain. His future balanced on fan votes and fake smiles.
“And if I won’t?” Nate asked.
“We won’t renew,” Delaney said, eyes gleaming.
Shit.
Nate huffed a laugh under his breath and pushed up the sleeves of his jersey. His Nordic tribal tattoo sleeves looked stark under the bright lights of the rink. “You’re insane.”
“No.” Sully’s voice cut sharp. “We’re your last chance. You don’t do this, you’re not just benched. You’re done. The board won’t touch you. The sponsors won’t come near you. And you’ll be lucky to land a commentary spot back in fucking Denmark.”
Nate’s jaw locked so hard it hurt. His fists clenched, his shoulder throbbed, and something in his chest twisted with the familiar ache of inevitability. He could take a hit. He could throw one harder. But this? This one slipped through the ribs.
Sully met Nate’s gaze, tired and unflinching. “Your flight leaves tomorrow,” he said. “Come back better, Brick. Or don’t come back at all.”
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