Page 109 of Hold Me Tight

Zane jerks his head in a clipped nod before shrugging out of Laiken’s hold. Blood drips from his split lip as he straightens, wiping it away with the back of his hand. His furious glare never deviates from mine.

“If you were ever my friend,” he says, voice quiet as it drips venom, “you’ll back the fuck off.”

I slowly shake my head. “That’s not going to happen. Unless Callie looks me in the eye and says she doesn’t want this, I’m all-in.”

The words hit harder than I intend, and they’re more honest than I’m ready to admit.

The locker room goes still.

Even Laiken looks rattled by the declaration.

Zane’s jaw flexes as his mouth twists into a sneer. “Have it your fucking way.”

He turns away, peeling off the rest of his gear before stalking toward the showers. At the edge of the tiled space, he pauses and glances back. “Just realize that she’s with you because you’re safe and easy. You’re the kind of guy she can use to steady herself until she’s ready for the real thing. And trust me, you’re not it.”

He steps into the steam, the sting of his words hanging in the room.

“What a prick,” Knox mutters, breaking the tension.

Oliver exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even noticed you and Callie. He’s so fucking wrapped up in himself, I doubt he sees anything that’s not in the mirror.”

Steele steps closer and asks, “Are you okay?”

Nope. Not even close.

Instead of admitting that, I nod and drop down onto the bench, the last of the adrenaline draining from my system. My breath continues to come hard and fast. Every muscle in my body feels strung tight, like I’m one wrong word away from spiraling out of control.

Still, there’s no part of me that regrets it.

I’d do it all over again.

I’d take the punch.

The hit.

The fallout.

The whole damn mess.

Zane didn’t fight for Callie and Nora when it mattered.

I sure as hell won’t make the same mistake.

39

Callie

The final buzzer blares, and everything in me seizes. The roar of the crowd swells below me, a tidal wave of noise I can’t seem to break through. I’m on my feet, but it feels like the ground just shifted beneath me, leaving me unsteady as I try to brace for what comes next.

Everyone in the suite is celebrating, humming with energy over the Railers’ hard-fought win. Nora is curled against Evelyn’s shoulder, sound asleep, her fingers clutching the edge of the older woman’s cashmere sweater.

I should be floating.

Instead, I feel mired down, like I’m being swallowed up by quicksand.

The players skated off the ice minutes ago, and I haven’t stopped replaying the final moments. The glare Zane threw me as he disappeared down the tunnel, the tightness in his shoulders, the hard set of his jaw.

That wasn’t a man pissed about the game.