And somehow, he had the nerve to repay her by cheating. I don’t know where he even found another girl to cheat on Jenna with. There isn’t a single woman on this planet I’d choose over her.
I straighten to my full height, feeling a familiar shift in my stance—shoulders back, chin level. The same posture that makes players think twice about dropping gloves with me. And I’m proud when he looks up at me and fucking swallows.
“Where is Jenna?” I keep my voice steady. This weasel can’t do shit to me.
Matthew’s eyes narrow. “None of your business. E-mail her.” He moves to close the door but my palm slams against the wood before he can shut it.
“I need to see her. Now.”
“Listen, hockeyboy?—”
What the— “No. You listen.” I push forward, not enough to knock him down, just enough to make him step back. “She called me. She was crying because of you.”
The apartment beyond him is chaos—not the typical lawyer-with-no-time mess I’ve seen before. This is different. A lamp on its side. A shattered glass on the kitchen floor. Signs of something I recognize too well from my ex—the aftermath of rage. She was always quick to completely lose it, and it seems Matthew is like her.
I bet he wanted to scare her, and I can’t hold back the rage that bubbles in my throat right now.
He crosses his arms, attempting to look tough. “Oh, did she callyou? Isn’t that a surprise. The client shedoesn’tfuck, right? Yeah, sure, that’s fucking professional.”
“Where. Is. She.” Each word comes out clipped. Each syllable hard as puck hitting boards.
A sound from the bedroom catches my attention—a soft hiccup of a sob that I’d know anywhere. I move to push past him, but Matthew blocks my path, his hand shoving against my chest.
“Get out,” he says. “This is my apartment too.”
I look down at his hand, then up at his stupid face. “Move.”
“Fuck you,” he spits, and something in me just… snaps.
“Last chance.” I keep my voice even. How? I don’t fucking know. “Step aside.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he fucking swings atme. This guy wants to die.
I could have dodged it completely. Years of hockey fights have taught me to read the telegraphing of an untrained punch, but I let it graze my jaw to make sure Jenna can’t blame herself later. The impact is nothing, a mosquito bite compared to taking a stick to the face. But it’s enough to justify what happens next.
Well, not my fault, fucker.
I grab his wrist mid-follow-through and twist, not enough to break anything, just enough to control. His other fist comes flying, wild and stupid, and I catch that one too. Now I have both his arms, and the panic in his eyes tells me he’sfinallyunderstanding the difference between us. God really didn’t hand out brains equally.
“How the hell you thought it was a good idea to cheat on a woman like that is beyond me,” I practically spit in his face. “But now you’re here, scaring her like this? This is what you think is okay?” I ask, my accent thickening as anger rises. It always does when emotion overrides.
“I didn’t—she was being crazy—let go of me?—”
I back him up against the wall, pinning him there with minimal pressure. “Crazy how? Because she works hard? Because she expects you to act like a grown man?”
He struggles, useless as a rookie against the veteran enforcer. “You don’t know anything about us!”
“Oh, I know enough.” I release one of his wrists to point at the broken glass, the overturned furniture. “I know what this means. I don’t like it. And believe me you don’t want me to get angry.”
“She tripped, alright? It was an accident! We had a fight. Couples fight.”
“Fight with words, maybe. Not with this.” I gesture at the destruction. “We’re done here for today. You are leaving,” I inform him, not a question or suggestion. A fact, like ice is cold.
“You can’t make me—this is my place too?—”
I release him and step back, watching him regain his balance. “Pack your bag. Take your ugly clothes and go.”
“Fuck you! Who do you think you are?” His face contorts with rage, and he lunges at me again.
