Page 19

CHAPTER 18

We’re down by one…

Scratch that. Now, we’re down by two.

Borgman, Cloverville’s center, is on fucking fire. But not for long.

His ass is mine.

I skate back onto the ice, eyes zeroed in on my target. Borgman’s been taking cheap shots during the entire game, and I think it’s time to put an end to that.

With my stick in hand, I glide straight toward him, and when the gap between us is closed, I don’t hesitate. My shoulder slams into his chest, driving him right into the glass with a satisfying crack.

Then, just like I knew he would, he erupts.

“What the fuck?” he howls, shoving his gloves into my chest.

I slide back a few steps, then eat the space right back up.

Fuming, we go helmet to helmet, breath to breath.

“Bring it on, pussy,” I growl, letting the name sting. Fitting, since he plays for the Cloverville Cats.

The next thing I know, he’s ripping my helmet off my head. It hits the ice with a hollow clatter.

That’s step one.

All I need is for him to throw the first punch.

I smirk and tap my cheek. “Go ahead, pussy. Gimme me your personal best.”

I watch as his fist flies through the air, but I don’t even attempt to block it. He lands a hard shot right to my jaw. Knuckles meet bone, and pain radiates. But that’s the only one he’s getting.

I flex my jaw, working out the ache just before lunging at him and taking him down onto the ice.

I strip his helmet off before whaling on him. Punch after punch, no hesitation, no mercy. The crowd blurs and the noise fades until it's just my fists and his blood.

Without my permission, the memory of Avery chained to the altar glazes over my vision and I’m lost to the rest of the world around me. All I know is anger.

Her body trembling. Sebastian in front of her with his signature post-orgasm smirk. Her mouth wrapped around his dick.

I see Aidric behind her, his filthy hands gripping her ass like he owns it while his fingers move in and out of her.

Something inside me snaps. Suddenly, this isn’t just a fight, it’s a fucking purge .

My knuckles crash into his face again and again, rage spilling out. I’m not even aiming anymore, I’m just releasing.

Then, I’m yanked off by an on-ice official, reality returning in pieces. My heart is fucking pounding. Adrenaline courses through me.

I know I went too far. But fuck it, I don’t care.Borgman will reap the consequences and I’ll just get a slap on the wrist. One of the many perks of being an Ice Lord.

“Off the ice!” the ref shouts. “Now!” He hauls me away from the bloody mess of a man, and all I can do is smile at my work of art spilling onto the ice.

I scoop up my helmet and gloves and skate out of the rink without argument, hurling my gloves into the penalty box before I even reach it. Blood drips from my fingers and all the players are called off the ice for cleanup.

I catch the official holding up five fingers out of the corner of my eye, and a slow smile tugs at my lips. Normally what I did would have me sent out of the fucking building. But this ref is in the Ice Lords’ pocket, and he knows better than to take one of the top players out of the game for too long.

“Five minutes,” Coach roars from behind the bench. “And don’t pull that shit again or you’re done for the day!” Ican see his pride for what I just did, though. If Avery thinks I’m twisted, she should meet our coach. His senior year as an Ice Lord is written about in our society's journal, and you don’t get to be a legacy in there for the small things.

I don’t sweat it. Five minutes is nothing. Especially if Borgman is out for the rest of the game. That’s the kind of trade I’ll take every damn time.

Unfortunately, the first minute is too quiet. Sixty fucking seconds trapped in my own head. As the adrenaline fades, the thoughts of her creep in again.

Where is she? What’s she doing? Who is she with?

The questions gnaw at me, and no matter how hard I try to shake them, they sink in deeper, like she’s pulsing underneath my skin.

I warned Seb to stay the hell away from her while we were gone. Even begged him to come with us while reminding him that suspension or not, he’s still part of this team.

He insisted on staying back, though. Said he needed to catch up on schoolwork, but I call bullshit. We both know the real reason was her.

Fortunately, before my mind spirals too far down the dark hole, the athletic trainer steps in for a quick assessment. I’m handed an ice pack and a rag to wipe the blood from my hand since I can’t start a new play while actively bleeding.

As I swipe over the marks on my knuckles, I take a few deep breaths and try to regain my focus.

We have to win this fucking game.

A few minutes later, my penalty’s up and I’m back in the game. My head is clearer. My focus is locked. And it’s time to finish what I started.

With Borgman out, there’s not a chance in hell we’re losing this.

The second the puck hits my stick, I’m cutting down the ice. I see the opening, clear as day, a shot I can’t miss. I swing my stick back, but…

I hear her.

Her voice. My name rolling off her tongue. She’s here.

My head snaps toward the crowd, eyes searching, like they know exactly where to look.

The next thing I know, the puck is stolen right out from under me.

I blink hard, trying to refocus my attention.

It wasn’t her. Just some random girl in the crowd cheering me on.

Avery’s not here. Of course she’s not. She’s probably at campus or out at Faraway Archery Range. She’s anywhere but here.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Coach calls me off the ice, waving Slade in to replace me. I hit the bench hard, jaw clenched as Coach tears into me—as he should.

The trainers mention that I was hit in the head during the fight and could have concussion daze, but Coach stares at me too hard. He doesn’t believe it. I wish I could. I wish this had nothing to do with Avery. She isn’t even here and she’s still ruining my life.

I don’t say a word. Nothing will suffice for my fuckup. Luckily, Coach doesn’t go too hard on me. Or maybe he did. I wouldn’t know because I barely heard anything he said before he waved me back in. I was somewhere else. Stuck in my own head, where the real punishment was taking place.

Shoving all thoughts of Avery, Seb, and everything else into the back of my mind, I pour my heart and soul into the final period.

Aidric and I both score, bringing it to a tie.

Then the buzzer sounds and we’re in overtime.

Make it or fucking break it.

The crowd is on high alert. Chants roar through the arena, but when the puck drops, it falls dead silent. It’s like the world is holding its breath, and it feels like all eyes are locked on me.

I live for this shit. Pressure isn’t my enemy; it’s my fuel. If I fail here, I’m not worthy of wearing this jersey on my back. So I give it all I’ve got.

Blades scrape across the ice, sticks clashing together. I react instantly, the puck snapping against my stick like it belongs there.

I cut through their defense like they’re simply standing still. Bodies close in, but I don’t feel them. Crossing the blue line, I wind back and send the puck slicing through the air, past the goalie’s glove, and straight into the net.

Goal.

The arena detonates, red lights flashing, horns screaming, and helmets flying. My team swarms the center ice to celebrate our sweet victory.

We fucking did it. Just like I knew we would.

There was one minor hiccup. Avery seems to be stuck in my head like a bad habit I can’t quit. But even she won’t throw me off this high.

Not tonight, anyways.