Knight, Walsh, and Reed crowd me, their eyes narrowed and lips pressed into thin lines.
“You wanna go at me, threaten me if I touch him? You made him sad. I fucking swear I even saw tears. You made him cry!” Knight’s fist tightens around my jacket.
“Jeez, Coach. What did you do to him?” Reed eyes me, waiting for an answer.
While I should be angry, scared even, all I can think about is what Rinne said earlier and how it would be nice to have friends that cared this much.
“You hurt him? Do something you shouldn’t have? Do we need to make you disappear too?” Walsh smirks as he says it. “I’m sure Buckland would like some company.”
My eyes widen as I inhale sharply. They killed their former coach.
Holy shit.
Knight snorts. “Looks like he’s finally getting with the program.”
“Let him go.”
I don’t need to look to see who it is. But the barely-there tone is like a stab in the chest. When I do turn, Viktor’s eyes are downcast. “Viktor?”
He still avoids my gaze and faces his friends. “We need to warm up.”
The four of them head off toward the rink and I stare after them—after him—hoping he’ll turn around. But he doesn’t.
I rake my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots, regretting ever mentioning us being casual because no matter how logical it would be, we’re not.
Now I just have to figure out how to fix this.
Chapter 16
Viktor
One thing about having an obsessive personality, I’m able to pivot what I’m intensely focused on. It’s how we beat Penn State. While my heart wasn’t in the game, I defaulted to my more negative trait as some people like to call it.
But how can it be so bad if my obsession with being the best actually makes me so. And that’s not me being narcissistic—my stats prove it. So does the fact the Islanders keep inquiring if I’ll reconsider leaving school early.
Answer’s always going to be no.
I want to finish my degree.
Our win wasn’t all just me. Henneman stepped up, came out of his shell. Sure, he doesn’t fight, not the way the rest of the team does. But he’s a fucking good defenseman.
The Titans may just be a mismatch for him.
I also caught the way he checked in with Rinne a few times, which means some sort of conversation happened. Not that I need the help. Me and my lucky card are perfectly capable of defending the net.
Taking out my wallet, I rub my thumb over the edges of the burnt Ace of Spades, then make sure it’s tucked away securely before putting my wallet back into my pocket. If only the card would bring me luck in every area of my life.
My phone dings and I pull it out. Opening my email, I glance over the message from our family lawyer confirming receipt of the signed contracts. Good. At least Mouse will be safe. No one gets to fuck with that little princess anymore.
Walking across the parking lot to the McLaren, I breathe in the cold air. Figure I’ll take a ride over to my parents and hang out with them for the weekend. Hopefully, my twin sister’s done some stupid shit again that might cheer me up, especially if it’s something that gets Dad all riled up.
While I may be a headache, she brought some old guy home and had him fuck her on the dining room table just as my parents came back from dinner a few years ago. Then she looked straight at my father and gave him the finger. Payback—as she called it—for our dad not sticking up for her after finding out Mom was sending her to live with my aunt to learn more about the family business.
Can’t believe I missed it, but my ass was busy at goalie camp.
Just as I open the passenger side door on the McLaren to toss my shit inside, the roar of a familiar engine catches my attention. Beckett pulls up beside me, revving his bike, the sound echoing in my chest.
He lifts the visor of his helmet, his two different colored eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. “Get on.”
