Page 8 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

five

W ell, that was unexpected. The girl, not the fight. The fight was inevitable.

But the girl . . . the girl was a pleasant surprise.

There aren’t too many people who can get me to stop when I get like that.

I learned a long time ago how to accept the chirping as just a part of the game.

I had to adapt. I can’t very well kill every hockey player who chirps, but Jake Anderson, well, he just had it coming.

I never understood why people assume that they’re not in any danger of being hurt simply because there are spectators around.

Nine times out of ten they won’t protect you, not if it means risking anything themselves.

And I’m not one to go back on a promise. I don’t make idle threats.

If I say you’re dead, then you are.

If only he’d never talked about my family.

My very dead family. Even being forced to acknowledge their absence is enough to set me on edge.

I gave him the chance to stop, but he didn’t take it.

On and on and on he went about how they’re never here so they must not love me.

I must be a disappointment and a failure to be so alone.

It was an odd thing for him to be so obsessed with me that he’d notice something like that.

For a moment I considered that he might be my stalker.

Especially with the way he droned on, but that’s not Jacob’s style.

He doesn’t have it in him. I knew that the moment I saw his beady fucking eyes.

They lacked conviction, absolution. There was no way he was the one who’d been following me.

My stalker is special. They get me in a way no one ever has and they wouldn’t provoke me like this.

In fact, I know they wouldn’t. That’s not what makes the game between us so fun.

No, that piece of shit, Jake, wanted me to hurt and he didn’t understand me not one bit. If he did, he showed no signs of awareness. There was no kinship between me and the dickhead whose blood now stains the ice.

I did warn him though. That’s got to count for something.

I tried to ignore his antics, to focus on the game. He just wouldn’t stop talking.

My fingers drag across my scalp, ruffling my hair as I recall the events leading up to everything.

I’m more agitated than I thought. I pace up and down the row of lockers, trying to reign in my temper, but I’m not sure it’s working.

It was the final nail in his coffin when that motherfucker told me, “Go home and cry to your mommy about what a loser you are because you’re going to lose tonight .

” Yeah, lose my fucking mind. But that wasn’t what made me snap.

No, those last parting words he uttered are what earned him the public crucifixion. “ Oh, that’s right, you can’t .”

I can’t.

Can’t. Unable. A physical impossibility that no matter how much I fucking wanted to, I couldn’t make plausible.

If he only knew how deep that very desire ran. I would do anything to hold my mom again, to cry in her arms.

But that’s not the way the world works. This life doesn’t freely offer do-overs.

My pacing stops, and clarity returns to me once more.

It’s not nice to pick on orphans.

He learned a valuable life lesson tonight: actions have consequences.

I suppose the consequences of my actions are that I’m thrown out of this game.

Ah, well, you can’t win ‘em all, I guess.

I strip off one layer at a time. My bloodied jersey.

My pads. I keep my mouthguard in though, chewing agitatedly on it while I untie the string of my breezers.

These padded shorts make me feel like my balls are in a straight jacket.

With my shirt off, I feel less restricted, untethered, and a thousand times lighter.

I interlace my fingers together and stretch them outward.

There’s a chilled silence in the air, one broken by the cracking sound of my finger joints popping.

I roll my neck from side to side, letting those joints pop as well.

Nothing like a good fight to really get your blood pumping.

I’m on cloud fucking nine right now. Seriously, I feel like I can fuck the president, free climb a volcano, surf a tornado, or some other impossible shit.

I bring my hands up, inspecting my fingernails and note the blood that’s not only under my nails, but spilling from several of my split knuckles.

Well, that’s unfortunate.

I flex my hands while I make my way over to the mirrors lining the communal sinks.

Blood trickles down my fingers, trailing a path behind me toward the bathrooms, but I leave it.

Loose skin hangs from my shredded knuckles, but it’s nothing a little ointment can’t fix.

There’s something rather important that’s more deserving of my attention.

Gripping the ceramic edge of the sink, I stand too tall in my skates to see myself in the mirror.

Forced to lean over, my head bows for a better look.

Pink droplets clink against the bottom of the bowl, echoing in the near-silent space.

I raise my head, taking a good look at the rest of the damage.

I roam the reflective surface in minute detail, making sure to take in the full picture.

My gaze catches on the empty benches reflected behind me.

More droplets leak into the sink basin, drawing my attention, this time a deeper red. Oh shit, look at that, I’m bleeding. Cool. Ah, wait . . . no, shit, that’s somebody else’s blood. I swipe at my face with the pads of my fingers and the blood smears away.

Well, damn.

Smearing it around, I rub the viscous substance between my fingers, losing myself in thought before flicking on the water.

I let the cool water pool in my palms, splashing it on my face to clean off the blood and sweat.

It stings a little. Hope flickers in my chest, and I look up to find I do have some light scratches on my forehead.

They’re barely worth the fight if you ask me, though I’m pretty sure that was from the headbutt, not the actual fight.

I cherish my small battle wounds all the same.

Shifting my face from side to side, I check to see if there’s anything else worth noting, but it seems I’m still intact.

I don’t know why I’m surprised; he barely got a hit in before he passed out.

Nothing’s broken and my teeth are still solid.

I take out my mouthguard, toss it onto the pile of discarded items and chomp my teeth loud enough to click, before taking one last look at my hands. I’ll have to wrap the knuckles, but I should be good to go after that.

Walking back over to the bench in front of my locker, I whistle my favorite little tune—the iconic intro of Kill Bill because that movies a fucking classic—as I take off my skates. I take my time unlacing the strings, whistling louder as the ominous tune echoes.

“You know, you were the last person I expected to see at my game tonight,” I say aloud. “You don’t usually come to see me play.”

There’s no response, but I continue. I had expected them to be shy at first.

“Hmm…so what’s your plan here? Watch me undress? Sneak up on me? Gotta say, it’s kinda rude to sneak up on people. Bad manners and all that.”

I tug the skate strings one by one. “But then again . . . you’ve been very bad lately. Haven’t you?”

To the average person it would seem quiet, but I’m not an average person and neither are they. They’ve been here the whole time.

I let out a deep sigh.

“Well, now you’re just being an asshole. It’s not nice to ignore people when they’re talking to you. It’s impolite.”

I hear the softest breath and pause, resting my forearms on my knees while I await their answer.

“If I have to come find you, I won’t be so polite. Trust me, you won’t like it when I’m mean,” I warn.

There’s a stillness in the air, a thick fog that’s settled in the space around us. It expands, trapping us until there’s no escape for either of us—not that I want to. I’m undoing my laces on the other skate when she finally gathers the courage to walk around the corner and embrace the inevitable.

One sharp blue eye peers from around the wall and then another. I lean forward to get a better look, and excitement grips me by the balls. She takes tentative steps toward me but stops several feet away. Presumably to maintain distance, but what’s done is done. She’s right in front of me.

Look at that, it seems there might be a God after all. I knew I had a little stalker, but no way in hell did I think it’d be someone as beautiful as her. I’ve had some committed fans, sure, but never have I met someone bold enough to follow me in here.

Such an interesting girl.

She’s a bold one, too. The smell in here is foul and she’s gulping air by the lungful.

I prop an elbow on my knee and rest my face in my palm, taking in her features piece by piece.

“ So . . . whatcha doing here?” I coo, as though she’s a lost puppy wandering into a lion’s den. “Came to surrender?”

She stands there speechless, like she’s not entirely convinced any of this is real.

That would make two of us if I weren’t so overly familiar with hallucinations and this isn’t one of them.

I’ve never felt more sure about anything in my life.

For once the world around me appears crystal clear.

I sit up and pull off the last skate, throwing it over my shoulder, not daring to draw my eyes away from the girl in the tutu standing in front of me.

The skate hits the metal lockers behind me at an awkward angle, causing a loud clanging noise that reverberates throughout the locker room.

She jumps back, startled. I level her with a stare that’s meant to discourage her from utilizing those flight or fight instincts, but the look she gives me in return makes my cock rage and my skin tighten in anticipation.

She’s going to run.

For the first time in years, I’m tempted to pray in hopes I resemble the predator who’s about to devour her, because that’s exactly what I am—and now she knows it.

My tongue licks across my teeth, tracing the edges as I watch her track the motion. I fail to contain my growl, wanting nothing more than to lunge forward and attack, but I remain still, waiting.

Her breathing picks up, and I can see the slightest tremble in her limbs.

I arch a brow in warning.

I dare you. Go ahead. Try to run.

Her body vibrates with the need to flee. To be anywhere but where she is right now while I’m itching for her to take the chance. I haven’t been this excited by a girl in a long time. I’m even more excited that this girl and my stalker are one and the same. Who fucking knew?

Most people would be scared they had a stalker, or at the very least concerned, but not me. I was intrigued. Our meeting has been a slow, gradual build up that was always going to result in us facing off. Gotta say, I never expected it to be someone like her though.

There’s something about her that begs to be caught, yet her eyes flick to the door like she can’t escape fast enough.

I can see her calculating how many steps it would take to reach it, how much time she would need to fully escape me, but despite her pointless calculations, her eyes reflect what she and I both already know.

She’s come to the resolution even if she can’t accept it.

There’s not enough time and not enough steps—but she tries anyway.

She fucking goes for it, and I breathe a brief sigh of relief, loving that she didn’t make this too easy on me.

That’s my little stalker. Taking one step back, she pivots to run, her sneakers squeaking against the floor tiles like she’s about to burn rubber, but unfortunately for her, she’s too slow.

I’ll give it to her, she’s a skilled sleuth, but speed isn’t her strong suit. I pounce before she can even turn away.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I whisper in her ear.

My arms wrap around her waist, sealing her back to my front.

She squirms, but I’m spinning us around and trapping her against the lockers before she can escape.

Her hair slaps across my face and her scent wafts in my nostrils as she fights me with all her strength.

Her body twists and she pushes against my chest but the brief contact only turns me on.

Both of my arms come up, caging her between my hard dick and the cliché obstruction. Her struggling isn’t helping matters one bit and my cock is loving it a little too much. But the second my hands land on either side of her head, she stills, knowing she’s caught.

Fucking finally.

My eyes drop to her mouth and the most adorable whimper escapes her plush pink lips.

I tilt my head, watching her, my hair tickling the deep-set crease whittled into my forehead as I take her in.

I swipe it away from my eyes for a better view, and again, I groan.

It’s deep and guttural and now it’s my turn to vibrate with need.

The need to possess her, to keep her high on a pedestal where she could never be brought down, belonging to me and only me.

At last, we meet .

I’ve thought for months about the day I’d catch her, it’s been the only thing outside of hockey occupying my thoughts day in and day out, and now that I have her in my sights, it confirms everything I speculated. She’s a lot like me.