“Fine.”
I watch as he skates backward toward his bench. What a dick.
I’ve got my eye on him. There is no way in hell I am going to let that fucker score tonight. Not after what he said about Bex. For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t between the pipes. I wish I was out there with the rest of the guys so I could go after him. Getting kicked out isn’t on my list of things to accomplish tonight, but man, do I want a piece of that guy.
My focus is shot during the game. All I can think about is not letting that douchebag score. I block a few of his shots, but let in two easy goals. I need to get my shit together fast, or this is going to turn into a runaway.
There’s a whistle for a stoppage in play when it happens.
The douchebag—I have no clue what his actual name is—skates over to me, a smarmy grin on his face. “She’s looking pretty sexy up there. I should show her what it’s like to be with a real man. Not whatever excuse you’re pretending to be.”
Fuck that.
Dropping my gloves and stick, I charge after the guy and put all my weight behind taking him down.
“Say that again.” My knuckles collide with his jaw with a splitting crack.
Ringing in my ears blocks out all other noise as the guy squirms under me to try and get a hit in. It glances off my pads before I’m being hauled off him.
His nose is dripping blood onto the ice as two of his teammates hold him back.
“Serves you right, you asshole!” I shout at him.
“Fuck you!” He spits onto the ice.
“You think you’re some macho guy for talking about women that way? Fuck you!”
“Nick!”
Troy and Cash are in my face, pushing me away from the opposing players. From the looks of the bench, the coaches are holding back the players from starting an all-out brawl.
Fuck. I can’t believe I did that.
Troy and Cash are both still in front of me, angry glares aimed my way.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cash asks. “You can’t do that!”
A glance toward the bench tells me the backup is going in. The anger of the fog clears as I realize I’m being kicked out of the game.
Fuck.
Boos echo around me as I grab my gear and skate off the ice. Add my stellar play in tonight, and getting kicked out is the cherry on top of my day.
I’ve never been so on edge in my life. One minute, I’m stopping the puck, and the next I’m going after the guy from Vegas who said vile words about Bex.
The minute I hit the locker room, I’m stripping out of my gear and throwing it—with a little too much force—toward my locker and then hitting the showers. The steam helps to calm my racing thoughts. My knuckles are banged up from taking a swing at that guy. I hope he has it worse than me.
Should I have gone after him? No.
But when he said Bex will spread her legs for any player, I snapped. The last thing I want is for anyone to think so little of Bex. Even if we weren’t together, I wouldn’t want them saying something like that.
I’ve seen how hard she works. About the hardest damn working person in the league, but I’m biased. She’s in the office early, stays late, and comes to just about every away game there is unless she has meetings with the league.
Did I bring this down on her? Is this all because of me? I hate that that’s the thought I keep coming back to.
It’s been nothing but a shit storm since news broke about the two of us. The guys are still giving me grief about it, but half the team is looking at me like I’m going to be the one cutting them if they’re not up to snuff.
And to top it all off, Noah is gone.
