Wade tugs off his helmet and catcher and drifts closer to Chase. The excitement of the crowd has simmered to a soft rumble as everyone watches what’s playing out on the ice.
Chase’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear or figure out what he said. Is he actually offering an olive branch? Or is he trying to stoke the fire I know blazes deep inside Wade?
I pound the glass, yelling Wade’s name, although I’m sure he won’t hear me over the growing chants of the crowd.
But then he turns his head, locking eyes with me. Everything in me tightens with a need to reach him, to tell him not to cross that line, that he doesn’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t want vengeance or justice for what Chase did to me. I just want Wade.
I want us.
He lifts one side of his mouth in that tilted smile I love. It’s the one that’s somewhat self-disparaging while coming across cocky as hell. I pound my hand on the plexiglass, desperate for him not to do what I suspect he’s about to do.
He skates toward Chase, slow and deliberate, until he’s a mere two feet away.
Chase thrusts his hand out again, but Wade stands there like a wall, strong and unmoving. And without a word, he shakes his head.
Something shifts in Chase’s stance. His hand drops, and his shoulders go back. After a pause that feels more like a decade, he tosses his stick, blocker, and catcher to the ice and throws a punch at Wade.
His head spins toward me, a spray of blood and saliva flying from his mouth. He holds his jaw as he straightens, glancing briefly at me before turning his full focus on Chase.
And his rage, which propels him at Chase in a slew of fast punches.
They turn into a tangle of flailing arms, targeted fist punches, and jerseys pulled at odd angles. Until finally they both wind up down on the ice.
The referees skate in at this point to separate them. Wade backs off immediately, but Chase still lies prone on the ice.
And unmoving. One of the refs signals the medical team with an urgent shake of his arm. The chants of the crowd die off as spectators realize the fighting they’d so gleefully cheered on had turned into something more serious.
Wade shoves a hand through his hair as he watches the medics help Chase up, and then he turns to face me. His lip is already swelling, and his eyes glitter with a hardness that makes me shudder.
I don’t know what Chase said to Wade, but I’m guessing it was awful based on how angry he looks.
A war of emotions slams into me. Fear over what this could potentially mean for Wade and his career. Anger at him for risking everything like that after he promised me he wouldn’t. And finally, a devastating need to get to him, to hold him and make sure he’s all right.
The rest of Wade’s team rallies around him until the ref leads Wade off the ice and down the tunnel.
And I’m racing up the steps, desperate to get to him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
WADE
I wince as the medic dabs the split in my lip with a swab. The disinfectant burns, making me hiss through my teeth.
“You need stitches,” he says as he probes the swollen skin and presses his gloved finger against my incisor. “The tooth is slightly loose, so don’t bite or chew on this side for a week. Might want to have your dentist check it.”
I nod, noting his skilled hands as he prepares the needle and thread to repair my lip. I’ll probably have a scar, but it was totally worth it. I knew Chase would start something—I not only expected it but craved the opportunity to make him regret he ever hurt Bree.
The things he said about her—it will take every ounce of strength to wash them from my head. I’ll make damn sure she never knows the vile words that scumbag had the nerve to say about her.
Her voice reaches me before I see her. She plows into the room, her blonde hair flying around her flushed face, making her appear even more beautiful than ever. But it’s the feral look in her eyes that stops and makes me take notice.
She’s worried about me. Sure, she’s shown concern when I’ve gotten hurt in the past, but not like this. As if I’m her world and she’s terrified she might have lost me.
I attempt a half smile, enjoying the show. “Hey, Bree-bear.”
Putting her fists on her hips, she lets out a huff. “Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk me, Wade Anthony Pierce. You promised!”
Her blue eyes glitter like the lights hitting the ice. If I didn’t have a busted lip, I’d yank her against me and kiss her until she couldn’t remember her own name. I find this protective side of her rather sexy. But I probably should explain that I did, in fact, keep my promise.
