“Didn’t he have her first anyway?” He laughs, bumping my shoulder as we circle for position. “No way that was fake, my brother.”
“Shut the fuck up, Blackwell. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just running your mouth to be a little bitch. Per usual.”
“Hit a nerve?” He stays glued to my side as we skate toward the boards. “Must be hard watching your brother take his girl back. Some things never change, huh, Patty?”
The puck drops, and I throw myself into the play, trying to outskate the images in my head. Her hands gripping his shirt. His fingers in her hair. The way she opened her mouth for him.
Damien shadows me the whole shift. Every time I touch the puck, he’s there. Every time I try to get open, he’s in my face.
“I’ve been thinking about her a lot, you know. She’s the kind of girl that buries herself in your head.” His voice is low, meant only for me. “Ever since New Year’s. You remember New Year’s, right? When she was all over me at Billie’s party?”
I keep skating, acting disinterested, even though he’s pissing me the fuck off.
“She told me things that night about your brother.” He’s enjoying this. “About what she likes. Said Jamie was too vanilla. Too gentle. Said she needed someone who would actually fuck her.”
“Really? Wow. You think I really give a fuck what she said to you? I don’t.”
“Oh, you do.” He laughs. “She would’ve fucked me that night. She was dripping, Cross. Soaking through her underwear before I even got them off. Oh, and these little desperate sounds she made, like nobody had touched her in years … I dream about that. She was basically a virgin again.”
I pass the puck to Callan and skate hard behind the net, trying to lose him, but he follows. He’s right at my shoulder, still running his mouth, but I don’t pay any attention to him.
“When I shoved my fingers in her, she thanked me like a grateful little whore.”
The whistle blows. Stoppage of play. I skate toward the bench, but Damien follows, still spewing poison.
“But now she’s been passed around your whole family, hasn’t she? First your brother and then you. I’m convinced you’re going to give her to the rest of your teammates when you’re finished.” He raises his voice. “Does Coach know his daughter’s a puck bunny? Or does he pretend not to notice when she spreads her legs for his best player?”
Callan appears at my elbow, grabbing my arm. “Walk away, Cross. He’s baiting you.”
“That’s what she is, right? A whore who’s desperate to date a star.” Damien’s still grinning. “Team slut who’s probably fucked half the roster since January.”
“Patterson.” Callan’s hand is on my chest now, pushing me back. “Look at me. He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t give him what he wants.”
I can barely hear him. My vision is narrowing to a single point, and that point is Damien’s smug fucking face.
“Your brother’s up there right now.” Damien tilts his head toward the stands. “How does it work? He fucks her while you watch. Then you both tap out? Aw, you’re always the backup,Patty. Must be exhausting, being second place your whole fucking life.”
“Walk. Away.” Callan shoves me toward the bench. “Think about what matters.”
I take a breath, then another, and turn to walk away.
“Can’t wait to take your record, then take your girl,” Damien says.
“Say it to my face,” I say.
“How’s it feel?” He skates up behind me. “Being second choice? Being the twin nobody actually wants?” He shoves me with both hands, square in the chest. “How’s it feel to know that every time she fucks you, she’s wishing you were him?”
He gives me another shove, and it’s harder this time. Two times is enough.
“You’re a fucking placeholder and?—”
I don’t remember dropping my gloves.
I don’t remember grabbing his jersey.
I only remember his face under my fist, over and over, the crunch of cartilage, followed by the hot splash of blood on my knuckles. Someone’s screaming, and hands are pulling at me, but I can’t stop. I won’t stop because no one is going to talk about Kendall like that.
The refs drag me off.
