He wasn’t waving at him or begging for an autograph, but silently popping up in every fucking place August was at was almost creepier.
This weirdo had followed him to an away game, which meant he was serious. August would have to put a stop to it before things escalated.
And although he wasn’t one to turn his anger on his fans, August couldn’t stop himself from glaring at his stalker.
He thought that would strike some chord of fear in the man, but he nearly dropped his water bottle when the stalker suddenly met his gaze andglared right back at him.
What the fuck?
That glare followed him to the bench. It followed him after the break and into intermission. It followed him all the way to the end of the game when he boarded the plane on the flight home. It even followed him back to his house, where he had to stop and go a few rounds with his punching bag becausefuck,he was angry.
They had lost the game against Calgary because he couldn’t get his shit together, and now any amount of good faith he had built with his team had dissipated.
Even Blanchard, who wasn’t nice to anyone, kept shooting him sympathetic glances after the last buzzer sounded.
Picturing Blanchard’s face on his punching bag helped, but the person he really wanted to fight was his stalker. It didn’t matter if he looked too delicate to handle a strong breeze, let alone a punch. August wanted to catch the slippery jackass and demand to know what his problem was.
But he was a star hockey player—sometimes—so he had to be professional even while being harassed.
And thus, two months of ‘Let’s-Stalk-August’ hell began.
He was in such an awful mood that he continued to underperform, and August’s frustration and anger issues once again drove a wedge between him and Niko. The rest of the team grew more distant, and even Callahan, who had always been the first to reach out to him, had backed off.
It was hard to focus on his job when he continuously spotted the brunette guy behind his bench or in the halls, like security didn’t care there was a fan wandering around the restricted areas.
And he was always glaring at August like he wanted to kill him, which made no sense because why would he be following him unless he was totally obsessed with him?
Didn’t murderers kill the people they were obsessed with?
It was making him…paranoid.
August didn’t do paranoid.
He sighed loud enough to be heard over the screams of the home crowd as he returned to the bench for his shift change. Like every time before that, August glared at the brunette who was acting like he was ignoring him, even though they both knew better.
But their routine had changed tonight because his stalker had the balls to flip him the middle finger, still avoiding his gaze.
Mother fucker.
“Gusty, you good?” Mark or…Collin asked, and his fellow defenceman turned to look at the people sitting behind them.
“I’m good,” August snapped. “Fucking peachy.”
Mark or Collin shook his head and returned to his wipe-down and water intake, leaving August to his own misery.
He eyed the green tape left within reach, but couldn’t be bothered to use it. Tape wasn’t going to make him stop playing like shit. Tape wasn’t going to get him out of this fucked up mindset that he couldn’t escape from.
At this point, Christmas break couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter 6
August
When there was a knock on his door, August grabbed a frying pan and ran to the entryway.
His heart was hammering so fast he was sure it would burst, but he unlocked the door and threw it open, weapon brandished and prepared to fight his stalker.
He met a pair of green eyes, but they weren’t the right shade.
