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Hudson

The rink is alive with noise. The crowd roars as the guys and I skate out for warm-ups. I tighten my jaw as I survey the players on the Colts.

My eyes find Hayes immediately.

He’s such a douche. Skating like he owns the ice.

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.

I do.

He needs to be knocked down a peg.

Lucky for him, I’m up for the job.

I can’t get the image out of my head—Hayes leaning in too close to Molly, his hand brushing her waist. Molly’s polite but stiff smile, her annoyance evident to anyone paying attention.

The image is burned in my brain, fueling my anger.

I clench my hands. I’m ready to fight.

Thirty minutes later, the game begins.

Right off the bat, it’s fast and physical.

We score, and then they score.

My frustration is at an all-time high every time Hayes is near, which is often. I focus on playing, though, trying desperately not to let him goad me.

That’s what he wants to do, after all. He wants to get into my head. Fuck with me, and then, in turn, throw me off my game.

I don’t let it happen.

Well, that is, until the third period.

The puck is still in play. I chase it down the boards. My focus is razor-sharp as I speed across the ice.

Out of nowhere, Hayes blindsides me with an elbow to the head, knocking me down. Pain shoots through me as I scramble to get back up on my feet.

The whistle blows for a penalty.

Fuck this.

I don’t hesitate to charge him. Dropping my gloves, I close the distance. Hayes swings first, but I dodge it easily. Pulling back my arm, I punch, my fist connecting squarely with Hayes’s jaw. Hayes staggers.

The whistle blows and blows and blows.

I grin at his bleeding lips. “Not smiling now, dick.”

All around me, I hear the crowd erupt into chaos.

They love this shit, and I’m about to give them the show of a lifetime.

I land another punch, but it’s not long before arms pull me back. Looking over my shoulder, I see Dane.

The deafening chants from the crowd are a mix of cheers and boos.

My chest heaves as I glare at Hayes, who is currently being dragged to the bench by his own teammates, a hand pressed to his jaw.

At least I wiped the smug-ass grin off his face.

That thought alone makes me smile.

I’m escorted to the penalty box.

Coach is pissed.

Oh, well. No one touches my little Hex but me.

“Wilde,” Coach barks as I slump onto the bench, peeling off my helmet. “What the hell was that?”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I stare straight ahead.

Coach wants me to feel bad.

Fuck that.

I have shit to feel bad for. Hayes had it coming.

Even with the scuffle, the game ends in a victory.

I head to the locker room, still fuming and amped up.

Once inside, Mason throws an arm around me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Nice punch.”

“How about maybe save it for after the game next time, huh?” It’s Dane who speaks this time. “ The Redville Post hates when they don’t have an exclusive, and I just bought their stock.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, sure, asshole.”

I have a feeling that he’d encourage me if he knew why I punched Hayes. Then he’d punch me himself for catching the feels for his sister.

As if he heard my thoughts, Mason leans in, his voice dropping. “You finally ready to admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“You know what,” he deadpans.

I don’t reply.

But Mason, being the persistent dick that he is, isn’t ready to drop it. “Come on, you can’t tell me this isn’t about Molly—”

“It’s not.” I sidestep him and head for the showers.

I need to fucking cool off.

A few minutes later, the hot water pounds down on my shoulders.

It helps loosen the tension from the game, but it doesn’t stop the voice that keeps screaming in my head that Mason is right.

This has everything to do with Molly.

Obviously.

By the time I’m ready to leave, I’m fucking exhausted and can’t wait to relax. I love flying home after a game. Nothing like sleeping in your own bed. I have no desire to party or celebrate, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not going to.

I’m done being the guy everyone expects me to be.

As I approach the plane, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.

A message from Molly.

Molly: Thanks for kicking his ass for me.

I shake my head and laugh.

Hudson: He had it coming.

Three dots appear, and I wait for her reply.

Molly: But next time, try not to get benched over me. It’s not worth the risk. Dane is insufferable when he loses.

My lips spread into a smile.

Hudson: No promises.

As I pocket my phone, any remaining tension slips away.

Whatever this thing is between us, it might not be simple . . .

But I want to try.