Page 14 of Devil on Skates

XAVIER

I’VE BEEN PACING AROUND for the last hour, looking for Irina without making it obvious and trying not to seem desperate.

Did she leave with Keith after all? Did she call someone else to come get her? The more time passes, the more I realize none of this is going how I thought it would. And that’s frustrating.

I go toward the kitchen and take a look inside, even though I’ve done it countless times before.

She’s slumped against the counter near the fridge, her hair messy, her eyes kind of glazed, as she tries to keep up a conversation with Hunter.

He’s our team’s third-line defenseman, known for being aggressive both on the ice and when going after drunk girls. He’s way too close to her, his arm braced on the counter next to her, his hand on her waist.

She weakly pushes at his chest, shaking her head, and he leans in despite her clear discomfort. I realize what’s going on.

She’s hammered, and he’s trying to take advantage.

Something fierce and protective kicks in me, my control snapping. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m across the kitchen and grabbing Hunter by the shoulders, spinning him away from her.

“What the fuck?” He stumbles, trying to keep his balance.

I don’t answer, just look at Irina. Her eyes widen, relief flickering in them before she returns to her drunken stupor, her cheeks flushed.

“Find your own, Gallagher,” Hunter says. “Coach’s daughter’s wasted and game.”

Fury rises inside me, and I shove him hard enough that he hits the wall with a thud. I pin him to the spot with my forearm against his neck while people gather around us.

“What’s wrong with you?” I growl. “She can barely stand, and you think that’s your chance?”

He blinks at me. “Since when do you care? She’s Coach’s daughter, and this is the perfect no-consequences hookup.” His lips curl into a smirk. “Are you trying to become Coach’s pet? Protecting his little girl for more ice time?”

I don’t even think. I just punch him in the jaw. My knuckles sting, but it feels good.

Hunter shakes it off, swinging back and grazing my cheek. I taste blood, and it only enrages me more.

I lunge at him, slamming him against the wall again. As he swings at me, I duck and grab him by the shirt. My punch lands on his nose, and I hear a crack. Hunter cries out, blood spraying everywhere.

He tries to hit me again, but I drive my fist into his side, making him double over.

“She’s not just Coach’s daughter,” I say through clenched teeth, pulling him up and landing another blow. “And she’s not your damn plaything.”

Fear flashes through his eyes as I raise my fist, but Ronan grabs my shoulders, pulling me back.

“Enough!” Ronan yells. “He’s done.”

I hesitate, then step back. Ronan stands between us as Hunter slumps to the floor while clutching his ribs. There’s blood on the floor, and everyone’s watching us, their phones in their hands.

“You’re crazy,” Hunter mutters, wiping blood from his mouth.

I don’t have any time to think about him or about the consequences of what I’ve just done, so I focus back on Irina, who’s leaning heavily on the counter. She’s dazed, as if she’s not even sure what’s happening around her.

“We’re leaving,” I say, sliding an arm around her to steady her. “Can you walk?”

She looks up at me, her eyes glassy. “Yeah.”

“Sure you are,” I say, smiling a little as she almost tumbles to the floor.

I lift her up into my arms, and she rests her head on my shoulder as I carry her toward the exit. People stare at us and whisper, but Irina doesn’t seem to notice as she mumbles something incoherent while picking at the sleeve of my shirt.

Once we’re outside, I furrow my brow. Where should I take her? Home? Coach would kill us both if I did that.

There’s only one option left. My dorm room. It’s the safest place.

“Put me down,” she mumbles, but her head drops on my shoulder like she’s got no strength left.

“Not a chance,” I say as I start walking. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Her body is warm against mine, her breathing slowing down as she drifts in and out of sleep.

The dorm building’s quiet when we reach it. Most people are out or already asleep. A few glance at my bloodied hands and Irina in my arms, but no one says anything.

Inside my room—not having to share is a perk of being a hockey player—I carefully lay her on my bed, slipping off her shoes and pulling the comforter over her.

She stirs, mumbling nonsense before falling deeper into sleep.

I just watch her for a long moment, the protectiveness inside me still going strong. The anger I felt when I saw Hunter on her was raw and real.

I’d go to hell and back for her. I’d kill for her.

And it’s not about competition or winning. She’s gotten under my skin like no one else has.

This wasn’t the plan. I wanted things to be clean and easy, and now it’s all messy and complicated.

I head to the bathroom, check my busted lip in the mirror, and wipe off the dried blood. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve taken on the ice, but it reminds me of how fast things spiraled out of control.

Back in the room, I look at Irina again. After weeks of trying to win her over, here she is. In my bed and totally unaware.

I lean forward, tempted to brush her hair back, but I stop myself because I don’t want to disturb her. For now, I just want to watch her and keep her safe, and I don’t give a fuck about what happens tomorrow.