Page 110 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Thirty-Nine

Cas

The game was fast and furious and bruising .

But I never got close enough to Lake Jordan to warn him to lock down his teammate and make sure the fucker kept his distance from Jules during and after the game.

Every shift was moving too fast, too filled with contact and rushes and skating my ass off for me to get that chance.

When the buzzer went off after the third, the teams returned to our respective locker rooms, exited out separate corridors (because things often got intense during professional games and that separation was good…

even if I had friends on other teams, a cooling down period was often required to leave hockey on the ice and return to friendship off it).

But all of that meant it still wasn’t easy to get Lake alone, to warn him that Jules was here, and he needed to help me run interference between Jules and Ethan and Nate.

So now I needed to run interference between Jules and Ethan and Nate by myself.

Except, she wasn’t picking up her phone.

Christ .

“You good, bud?” Smitty said, and for once, his voice wasn’t a boom, wasn’t blaring across the room.

It was quiet and concerned.

“What do you think?” I muttered, jabbing at my phone to call Jules again as I tore at my laces.

Thank fuck, I didn’t need to do press today—or rather, thank fuck that my teammates had stepped in to take over the interview requests so that I didn’t have to.

“Hand it over,” Theo said, putting his hand out. “I’ll keep calling. You get changed.”

I didn’t bother arguing, just slapped the phone into my friend’s hand, who immediately tapped at the screen and lifted it to his ear.

“I’ll call security,” Smitty said, still quiet and not like Smitty.

“She was going to meet me by the training suite. I’ll get them to meet her and bring her and Ethan to a room well away from—” A shake of his head and he didn’t finish that statement, just stood up from the bench and walked from the room, still fully dressed.

I got my skates off, tore off the rest of my gear, yanked on a sweatshirt, and shoved my feet into my shoes.

Ridiculous to wear dress shoes with my tight under layers and sweatshirt, but I wasn’t bothering with anything else, especially as the press were starting to come into the room. Marcel stood up, meandered over to one man, intercepting him when he seemed intent on coming for me.

Thank fuck for my captain.

Shoes on, I glanced at Theo, brows lifting in silent question, asking for an update.

Theo pulled the cell from his ear and shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered, ending the most recent call, and handing the phone over.

“Fuck.” I shoved it in my pocket, then thrust a hand through my hair.

“Go, man. Start at the training suite,” Theo said. “Smitty and security and the rest of us will help.”

Right.

I began to leave, but Eva Moreno—sports blogger, smart and talented journalist, and a woman who was able to sniff out a story (and especially a scandal, no matter how small)—stepped into the room right as I hit the door.

Fuck.

But then Theo was there.

Theo was there. Theo, who hated Eva, not only because she wrote no shortage of snarky stories about him and his exploits.

Theo, who couldn’t stand Eva because she was immune to his playboy charm and never failed to ask him questions that left Theo—and, frankly, all of us—scrambling for good answers.

Theo, who despised giving interviews in the first place—and who especially despised giving them to Eva.

It was Theo who voluntarily intercepted Eva, engaging her quickly despite all of that.

Despite the fact that they were oil and water and constantly tried to one-up each other’s snark.

That probably wasn’t going to go well.

But I had bigger issues.

I exited the locker room, taking the quickest path to the training suite, which happened to take me by the elevators…

And by Lake Jordan.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snapped.

Irritation in the big fucker’s eyes. “Don’t come at me, Castillo. I’ve got a friend coming down and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Okay, yeah, our battles on the ice tended to be contentious.

But this was more important—Jules and Ethan were more important than any interaction on the ice, even if Lake was one of those guys everyone hated playing against (though they didn’t mind if he was on their team).

“Who’s your friend?” I demanded.

A laugh that was less amused and more pissed off. “None of your fucking business, that’s who.”

And that was when I lost the thin tendril of control that was keeping my temper in check. I flew forward, gripping Lake around the throat, shoving the other man into the wall. “Who. The fuck. Is. Your. Friend? ” I growled.

“What the fuck, man?” Lake snapped, grabbing at my wrist, trying to yank my hand off.

Wasn’t going to happen.

Wasn’t going to happen.

“ Who is your friend?” I gritted. “Is it a woman?”

Lake froze, hand tightening enough around my wrist that swear to fuck, I felt my bones practically grinding together. “What the fuck, man?” he said again.

“Is it Jules?” I growled.

Lake’s fingers spasmed, sending a bolt of pain up my arm, but I didn’t release him, especially when Lake asked, “How do you know Jules?”

My response was visceral. “She’s mine .”

Another spasm. Another jolt of pain. “What?”

“ She’s mine.”

Lake moved then, breaking my hold like it was nothing, and I was reminded all over again that he was a big fucker. A strong fucker. “How is she yours?” he asked, frost in his tone and his face in mine.

“I love her,” I snapped, shoving him back. “And Ethan, too.”

“So why the fuck is she here?” Lake swept a hand out.

I clenched my jaw and did some sweeping of my own. “The bigger question is why the fuck are you bringing her down here?” I snapped. “Closer to that asshole?”

Lake went still again. “Nate is so far up his own ass that he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to anyone but himself.

” His big chest rose and fell on a breath.

“And I asked her down here because I needed to make sure she and Ethan are okay, and”—he stopped, his tone less granite and more controlled—“I need to give her something.”

Yeah, I bet he did.

“She doesn’t need your money,” I snapped.

She didn’t need any other connections to Lake, to Nate, to that whole fucking team.

I had her now, had them both now.

“She’s on her own?—”

“I know you helped her five years ago,” I said, taking a breath and trying to find my control again.

Lake—asshole or not—had helped Jules. That was fact.

Jules cared about Lake. Also, fact. But neither of those mattered in this moment because I needed to end this conversation, stop fucking around, and find Jules.

“But I have them both now, so you need to back the fuck off.”

“Look”—Lake took his own breath—“I can appreciate that you care about her, but she’s important to me, Cas. I need to talk to her.”

“She needs to leave that shit in the past.” A beat. “Including you.”

“If she wanted to leave it behind—leave me behind,” Lake said, “she wouldn’t return my texts and calls, wouldn’t have come to the game tonight.”

There was a point to that.

One I didn’t want to hear.

Not right then.

Not without knowing where Jules was. Not without knowing where Nate was.

Jules would come down. I knew it. Not just because she’d made arrangements with Smitty, but because she wouldn’t take this away from Ethan—a chance to meet a player he liked, a chance to be in the mix of all this hockey atmosphere.

The kid was hooked.

And Jules wouldn’t hesitate to give that to her kid, no matter what it might put her through.

“This isn’t a safe space for Jules,” I said, “and you know it.”

For the first time, a glimmer of uncertainty hit Lake’s expression.

But we didn’t have time to explore that, to continue the conversation.

Because a voice came from behind us.

“I had that pussy.” A laugh that was cold and cruel. “And let me tell you, it was nothing to fight over.”

“Nate,” Lake began.

But he didn’t get to finish.

Because that was when the elevator doors dinged, opened…

And Jules and Ethan stepped off.