Page 93 of Hockey Halloween

Mason

I don’t care how long it takes; this piece of shit is eating ice.

I can’t stop thinking about Lilith, about the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes when she knew he was watching, the way her body tightened with, dare I guess, fear in knowing that he was close by?

How someone hasn’t put this asshole in the ground is beyond me. I push out a slow breath through my nose, because while at one time in my life I’d have said I was too pretty for jail, there’s a real chance I’ll wipe the floor with this prick tonight and end up behind bars.

And he knows it, too. Every time he takes to the ice, he has a menacing smirk on his face and a glint in his eyes that tell me he’s up to something, but I can’t figure out what.

At least I couldn’t, until the second period intermission when someone thrusts a phone in front of my face in the locker room. It’s a picture of me pressing Lilith into the side of the merch stand outside the rink last night.

I can’t help the twitch in my pants or my lips at the sight. She looks damn good with her legs curled around my waist and my dick pinning her to the wall.

But a quick scan of the article, of the small-town publication smearing Lilith’s name through the mud as some kind of hussy makes a red mist descend in front of me.

Artemis places a hand on my chest, seemingly sensing the shift in my body. “Easy.” He pats me, once, twice, even a third time, but it does little to dissolve the bubbling in my bloodstream.

“He took that picture,” I grit out through painfully clenched teeth.

“He did. But he’s not worth going to jail over, amigo.” Apollo nails me with a pointed stare from a few feet away. “Don’t let him goad you into something you’ll regret.”

That’s just it; I’m not sure I would regret it. My aunt’s abuser got away scot-free, had his whole life ahead of him all while ruining hers. There was never enough evidence, they said. Men who do bad things to people deserve to have bad things done to them.

Fuck.

I rake my hands through my hair. I know I’m not God, I’m not even judge or jury, but the roaring fire of rage in my veins has me wanting to be executioner for that absolute asshole, JW.

He’s been far too problematic for far too long.

Back out on the ice, Artemis ices every time JW does, keeping our enemy out of the eye of my Cat five hurricane. He’s a good friend, and a great teammate. And every time he skates within JW’s range, he throws a subtle shoulder that not even the great Johnny White can pretend doesn’t affect him.

Artemis de la Pena is a fucking tank.

Something prickles my awareness in the stands. Glancing up from the bench, my eyes easily find Pennywise in the crowd. She’s like a vibrant homing beacon, the hair, the tits, those fucking suspenders. I bet she wore the costume again because she knows it drives me out of my mind.

I’m going to get her to let me take her out on a date, a real date, where the restaurant has cloth napkins, no prices on the menu, and a dress code. She’s the kind of girl who deserves the best things, and I don’t even know her.

Her eyes hold mine for a beat, then flick back to the phone placed in her hands by Athena. Lilith’s whole face crumples, sending another wave of white-hot rage coursing through my body.

Artemis moves to hop over the bench, but this time, the bastard’s mine. I clip Johnny on my way past. It looked wholly innocent, like an accidental collision, but we both know he’s face down on the ice because of me. And I know he won’t be able to resist retaliation.

I’m not wrong. It’s a few seconds before a stick meets the middle of my back. That dick’s too short to even reach my shoulders which brings an odd sense of satisfaction as I turn to look down on him.

“What’s wrong, JW?”

He glowers up at me, saying nothing.

“Ice get your tongue?” I wink and spin to skate away.

“She’s frigid.”

“Maybe micro-penises aren’t her jam, man.” I shrug, throwing out the retort with a chuckle, and secretly hoping he didn’t touch her or push her boundaries if she did reject him. The bitterness fizzing at the back of my tongue makes me swallow.

This woman is going to be the death of me. I’ve known her for all of three days, and I’m already thinking about rearranging this guy’s face to defend her honor. It’s like meeting her has flicked a caveman switch somewhere deep in my brain.

Another crosscheck to the back makes me lose my balance, and when he hits me a third time, the gloves come off—literally.

Our gear clatters to the ice as the crowd gets to their feet, the sizzling anticipation of a fight rippling around the rink. I wait, patiently staring at him through narrowed eyes until he throws the first punch, and then it’s on. We explode in a barrage of flying fists and exchanges of strikes.

I have at least a foot and thirty pounds on him, though, so he goes down after a few seconds. Grinning up at me through a bloodied smile, he shakes his head. “You fucking Raccoons, man.” He spits a mouthful of blood onto the ice. “Always so easy to rattle when it comes to mediocre pussy.”

Before I can drop to the ice and pummel his face some more, Apollo appears, hand on my chest, pushing me back. “Walk away, Mac. Murder is bad. ”

I can only grunt in reply, as he guides me back to the penalty box where I take my five for fighting on the chin. I search the stands for my ghost but she’s nowhere to be seen. Athena’s gone too, and part of me hopes that she’s with Lilith, making sure she’s okay.

As they replay the fight on the big screen, my stomach dips, acid swirling in my gut. Resorting to violence to solve my problems wasn’t my finest hour, maybe my behavior scared Lilith, maybe she doesn’t want to entertain dating someone who leads with his fists.

Shit. I hang my head in my hands, elbows anchored on my knees, so I don’t have to keep watching the video footage on the screen.

How can I have already fucked this up before it even had a chance to start?