But with Neve, all bets are off.
Tasia.
Connected to some drama with Sylvan.
My blood boils.
As two of TMU’s guys try to pull me off their man, I drop my fists, shrug out of their grip, and turn to Sylvan, still holding the forward back.
I charge for him among gasps from the crowd, the high-pitched whistle from the refs surrounding me, Coach Wynon about to have a stroke yelling on the bench.
Sylvan sees me coming and he shoves the player away. His helmet must’ve got knocked off in all the bullshit, and so it’s easy to get directly in his face, my temple to his.
“Now they know about her, and us,” I snarl so low no one can hear us, and this time, it takes longer to be surrounded. Guys fighting on the same team isn’t unheard of, but I’ve never done it.
All of my control slipped the moment I made her come all over my hand and she pressed her head to my chest, like I was someone to trust.
Fucking other guys? Yeah, it seems like she does that easy enough even if the thought makes me want to vomit.
Trusting them? I don’t think so.
And I don’t intend to ever break that.
“So you’re saying thereisan us,” Connor says with a grin.
“Get your bitch under control,” I seethe.
His eyes narrow, confusion in his gaze as our team surrounds us, huddling around us to protect the two of us.
Sweat fills my nose alongside the metallic scent of the rink.
“Tasia,” I snarl, then I pull back so I don’t hit him too.
The guys give me room to breathe, then to skate away, charging toward the bench, my gloves and my stick still out there on the ice. I don’t bother with the penalty box. They won’t be that lenient.
Out of my peripheral, I see the ref pointing straight at the locker room.
Yeah, I’m already headed there, motherfucker.
Wynon isn’t screaming anymore but the look of disappointment he aims my way is heavy.
I’m glad Mom isn’t here for this one, although she’ll be watching from Sudbury and she and Rachel both will wonder what Bronson said to me to make my temper snap. No doubt she’s already sent a dozen texts about it.
By the time I’m sitting on the locker bench, skates off, sweat dripping from my hair, jersey on the floor, my breath coming in pants, I’ve already decided.
Sylvan Connoriscoming with me tonight.
I don’t trust him with her, and I don’t trust her without me.
FORTY-FIVE
NEVE
“It’sfreezingout here!” Cynthia shivers under her black fur coat. Real, because she is her mother’s daughter. On the plus side, the fashion designer Lola Espinosa doesn’t use any fur—real or synthetic—in her designs. But she has no qualms buying real from thrift stores and gifting them to her daughter.
It still isn’t quite enough to fight off the unseasonal temperatures outside. My cheeks feel numb, and I’m wearing black fur myself—Lola’s gift to me last Christmas, bless that woman—a black toque with a leopard-print pom pom, and a skin tight black ski suit, plus my fleece and leather black gloves.
“We’ll probably only be out ten minutes more, max,” Karter says, tossing back her green hair. She’s in a white winter coat and she looks like a mermaid out of season. None of us bothered to dress up for Halloween forthis;we agreed to change into our costumes if we feel like it after we endure Castle Morack’s Haunt Night. It’s just too fucking cold.
