I hadn’t even waited for the puck to drop before my fist found his jaw—and I’d have kept going if they hadn’t dragged us apart. Now, my knuckles were split and bloodied, my heart still hammering like I was mid-fight. Good. Let it hurt. Let it remind me why I did it.
He talked about her like that.
I paced the room like a caged animal, shoulders tight, blood pounding in my ears. The taste of adrenaline was still thick in my mouth. I could still hear the crunch of his face under my fist. It wasn’t enough.
“Jesus,” Toshi muttered, somewhere behind me. “What the hell was that out there?”
I didn’t slow down. “Handled business.”
“Looked like you lost your damn mind.”
I finally stopped, staring at the sweat-slick floor. “He brought up my wife.”
Toshi didn’t speak for a second. And when he did, his voice was lower. “What’d he say?”
I looked up, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Enough to earn what he got.”
Toshi exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Nick, I get it. I do. But you gotta be smarter. You think that prick’s worth a suspension? A fine? Getting benched during playoffs?”
“He said her name like it was a joke,” I growled. “Like she was a thing. Like she belonged to him.”
Toshi’s expression sobered. “And you think brawling is gonna make him shut up?”
“No.” I stepped closer, voice low and even. “But now he knows not to say her name again.”
He held my stare, and for a second, I thought he was going to push back again. Instead, he nodded slowly. “Just don’t lose yourself over someone trying to drag you down. You’ve got something real. Protect that without setting fire to everything else.”
But I was already burning.
Because Kennedy wasn’t just someone I cared about—she was mine. And if anyone wanted to test how far I’d go to keep her safe?
They just got a glimpse.
I leaned back against the wall, jaw still tight, pulse refusing to settle. My knuckles throbbed like a war drum, a reminder that I’d lost it out there, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The locker room door swung open with a bang. Axel came in first, sweat still clinging to his neck, a bruise blooming purple along his cheek. He grinned like he’d just scored a damn hat trick.
“Hell of a show, Maddox.” He slapped my shoulder so hard I staggered. “That wasn’t a fight. That was a fuckin’ statement.”
I didn’t answer. Just nodded, jaw grinding.
Dominic followed, wiping blood off his mouth with a towel and tossing me a water bottle. “Gary’s a piece of shit. You don’t let a guy like that walk around thinking he can talk about your girl and still breathe easy.”
One by one, the rest of the team trickled in—scratched up, bruised, high on adrenaline and still riding the wave of what we’d just lived through. Guys dropped gear with heavy thuds, groaning and laughing like we hadn’t just thrown down in front of thousands.
Greyson pointed to a nasty welt forming on his arm. “Tell me that wasn’t clean,” he joked. “Told their guy not to test me—but you? You went full damn grizzly.”
Their voices bounced off the walls, easy and sharp, the sound of warriors unwinding after battle. No masks, no filters—just raw, gritty pride. They weren’t just hyped about the win or the chaos. They were proud because we stood our ground. Because I didn’t let that bastard get away with talking about Kennedy like that.
And in that moment, something clicked hard in my chest.
These guys weren’t just teammates. They were mine—my family in every way that mattered. We bled together. Protected each other. No questions, no hesitation.
I cracked open the water bottle and took a long pull, the cool burn sliding down my throat. My voice came out low, tight with purpose. “Let’s show ‘em what happens when you poke the wrong fuckin’ bear.”
Heads nodded all around me. No bravado. Just steel.
“Together,” Greyson said.
