Jake’s body goes stiff. “It’s no longer a question ofifSanders will sell, is it? It’swhohe sells to.”
She says nothing, and that silence is confirmation enough.
“Jesus Christ,” Cole breathes, cupping his hands over his face.
Every one of them looks at me, the weight of their anticipation heavy. They’re all waiting for my reaction. My mind is spinning through implications, consequences, and the absolute fucking chaos that Gigi has unleashed because she saw me spending the hardest day of the year with the woman I’ve fallen completely, irrevocably in love with.
“Within the next forty-eight hours, the team and the league will release public statements,” Sloane adds, her tone apologetic. “It’s going to be a media shitstorm, Cameron.”
“It’s already a media shitstorm,” I remind her. “Kennedy’s being torn apart online.”
She’s the one paying the price and she’s completely innocent. I don’t care what happens to me. I care that because of me, it’s happening toher.
The fact that I make it to the third period without smacking the shit out of someone should count for something.
I highly doubt it will, though.
The moment the Warriors’ rookie says her name, anger floods me, red and hot and insidious. It’s like a switch flipping. The chill of the ice disappears and is replaced by pure, unadulterated rage.
I spit out my mouth guard and skate forward, dangerously close to leaving the crease. “You want to say that to my face, fucker?”
Jake appears beside me, shoving the kid before I can. “Walk the fuck away, Hertz. I don’t like you, but if you value your life, I highly suggest backing up and keeping your mouth shut.”
“And keep my girl’s name out of your fucking mouth,” I growl, anger like a drum pounding against my chest.
Hertz twists his mouth into an ugly grin. “Oh, c’mon. You’re telling me you can’t handle a little joke?”
“Last warning, kid.” My words are flat and deadly, but Hertz either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care.
When I told Kennedy that the unspoken golden rule of hockey is that you don’t fuck with a goalie, I wasn’t kidding. It’s a guaranteed way to get your ass kicked, so I know that the moment he skates away, Jake will take the guy down for me.
Unless I beat him to it.
“Wonder if she’s looking for any other investors.” The asshole leans in, his voice a scratchy whisper. “I’d be happy to drop a mil if it meant fucking?—”
That anger boils over, my vision going red at the edges.Game over.
I slam my blocker into his chest with a grunt. His smile falters as he realizes a fraction too late that he fucked up. I shove him back so fast and hard that the glass shudders as he slams into it.
The ref blows his whistle, shrill and insistent.
I ignore it.
So does Jake.
Knowing full well I’m not giving him a piece of this fucker, Jake does the next best thing and slams into another Warriors player.
From there, all hell breaks loose.
There are bodies colliding everywhere, gloves hitting the ice like hail on a roof. The crowd roars—half cheering, half gasping—as the benches empty and players pour over the boards, pairing off like the moment has been choreographed.
The refs skate in circles, whistles screaming uselessly, trying in vain to separate bodies.
I snag the visor of Hertz’ helmet with my catcher and yank his head down while I bring my blocker up again. The padded rectangle connects with a satisfying crack. Hertz tries to talk, but I slam him again, and his comment turns into a grunt of pain.
“That’s my fucking girlfriend you’re talking about,” I snarl, inches from his face. “If you think you can?—”
I shove my blocker up again, but this time it’s stopped before I can make contact. The person holding me has a strong grip, making me work to free myself. I try like hell to shake them off, but soon, more hands join in, pulling at my shoulders and my jersey.
