Page 20 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

“They wish they were us,” Huddy says.

“Will you let us get paint guns yet?” Shep asks, jaw tight.

“Yeah. We need to end this,” Bender agrees.

Luke’s right, if we retaliate, we’ll escalate the problem. But I’m finding it hard to care right now. I want revenge. We want revenge.

They all look to me for answers. For direction. The need for retaliation burning in their eyes. I can’t let them down.

“We ride at dawn, boys!”

The house erupts with cheers.

By the next day, I’ve got an emergency shipment of paintball guns and supplies coming to the house that I paid out of pocket for—well, out of Dad’s pocket.

But I’ll totally pay him back when I’m a rich hockey star.

It should arrive sometime this afternoon.

It’s best we strike quickly, because they won’t see it coming.

My only issue is getting out of the office hours I have with Luke.

No idea how I’m gonna do that. If I tell him I’m not feeling well, he’ll come for me.

Which, not gonna lie, that would be so nice. Him pulling the truth out of me and saving me from this catastrophe. It’s not that I don’t wanna give those Beta Sigma weasels exactly what they deserve, but I’m not prepared to deal with the fallout. A better president would.

I’m in the middle of class, a business class I actually don’t mind, when Coach shows. He whispers to the professor, she nods, and then he hails me with a hand.

“Get your ass down here, McKinnon. You’re coming with me.”

There are a bunch of “whoas”, and a few whistles from the rest of the class. My stomach churns. Coming to collect me personally? If our last private conversation was any indication, I’m about to be frozen in carbonite. I follow him to his office. He gestures for me to sit, closing the door.

“Sorry to pull you out of class like that, McKinnon, but I needed you now, and I figured it best that I talk to the professor to get you out.” He tosses The Shadow Gazette down on his desk. It spins, landing with a flutter. “What’s going on?”

Do my ears deceive me, or did he just apologize to me? Coach VanCourt is fucking Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde this season, I swear to fucking god. What are the chances Luke has something to do with his less-murderous attitude?

I take a look at what he’s tossed in front of me.

The title is “Frat Wars” and I’m on the cover, staring at the fucking ruins that used to be our frat house.

We haven’t had time to repaint. The first time they ambushed us, we hired out for the repaint, but that’s gonna kill our budget, so this time, we’re gonna have to find time—somehow—to do it ourselves.

I huff. “Fallout, Coach. That, uh, that girl trouble I had. It’s escalated to this.”

My stomach twists and churns with all kinds of disappointment in myself. I remember the stern-as-fuck lecture he gave me. I take a breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“That article makes a fool out of you, which means it makes a fool out of everyone on the team. A team that won’t exist next season if this shit keeps up.”

Um … huh. Not even a typical VanCourt grunt, just a mild scolding—one that’s more than fair considering the circumstances.

“I understand, sir. I’m sorry.” It all feels fucking unfair, though. I make one mistake—one little, tiny mistake—and it turns into this.

“I want to show you something else.” He hands me an iPad, and a video plays.

Security footage. Me in the rink the other night, getting wasted all by myself.

My soul leaves my body. If he saw this, he saw me with his brother, too.

Jesus. That means he saw his brother spank me and fucking cuddle me after.

He saw him putting me in my place and loving every minute of it.

“Um … how much did you see?” What are the chances the camera battery died at some point? Is that a thing?

“Everything, McKinnon. We’ll talk about your liaisons with my brother in a minute. Lucky for you, no one checks these unless there’s a reason to.”

That means he had a reason to, but I’m in some hot fucking water, so I’m not gonna ask what. I’m just fucking glad it looks like I’m getting out of this with a mild warning.

“And you must have had horseshoes up your ass. Other than one of your friends coming to check on you, no one else was there that night.”

I have the best friends.

“The Shadow Gazette is sent out to potential donors, what if they saw the captain of the hockey team’s drunk ass drooling over a tequila bottle on the front? You have a target on your head, you need to be careful.”

My stomach plummets. That would have been bad. Donor-losing bad. But my mind’s jumped to things it shouldn’t. Is he gonna ask me not to … whatever with Luke? We’re not dating or even fucking. Ugh, we’re not anything, but we’re not nothing either.

Actually, not true. He’s made it clear that I’m his. I can work with that. Luke’s not gonna stand for Coach keeping us apart, is he?

“I’m not a huge drinker, Coach. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“I know you’re not, McKinnon, but it only takes one little mistake plus one vicious enemy.” Don’t I know it? “You need to fix this shit, and you need to do it fast—before the first exhibition game.”

That’s next weekend. Goddammit. If it were that fucking easy, I’d have done it by now. Not gonna talk back to Coach, though.

“On it, Coach.

“Now, my brother. This one’s harder?—”

“He was just keeping me in line,” I cut in.

“I saw the whole thing, McKinnon.” I get a funny look from him that I don’t think has anything to do with the way Luke took me to task. “I’m not in support. If it got out that you were fucking your professor, that could ruin us just as much as the rest of the fucking bullshit.”

I don’t die inside just yet, because I sense a but.

“But?” I say for him, raising a hopeful brow.

“But my fucking nuts are tied.”

“Um, what does that mean, sir?”

“So much bullshit that’s none of your fucking business. Let’s just say I’ll be actively trying to convince you otherwise, but my methods are limited.”

There’s only one reason for that, only one person on earth who could put a limit on what Coach can do. The butterflies smash around like ball bearings in my chest.

Daddy to the rescue.

“Wipe that smile off your face, McKinnon. I’m definitely gonna. Now, do we understand each other?”

“You’re understood, Coach.”

“Good, now get out of my face. Luke wants to see you.”

“He does?” I fight the smile this time, but just barely.

“Don’t get too excited. He isn’t happy.”

Is it weird that my first thought is, “even better”? Yeah, probably weird, so I keep that bit to myself.

It was as if he knew I was approaching the door. I was dragged inside, my ass shoved onto his desk, and that’s when he began poking around. That bear-paw hand gripped under my jaw, moving it from side to side.

He’s been staring at it for the last five seconds as I sit like a good boy, forgetting how to breathe.

“Off,” he says, tugging at my jacket. “Shirt too.”

If I thought for a second that he was getting me naked for sexy times, my shirt would already be on the floor.

But he’s not. He’s looking for damage. It’s endearing as fuck, but he can’t see.

Not that I wouldn’t love to see him go protectively ballistic, but he’s proven to be a mind reader, at least where I’m concerned.

He’ll know I’m planning something as soon as he sets eyes on the fat bruises.

“Um, look. I’m fine, sir.”

“I don’t ask twice, princess. Daddy’s gonna decide that for himself. Do it, now .”

Words have never made me melt, but those just did. Fuck. I might do anything Daddy says at this point.

And I won’t point out that he kinda did just ask me twice, because I feel fucking special.

I shrug out of the shirt. His eyes widen, and I swear he snarls, handling me roughly as he lifts my arm, twisting me to get a good look at the bruising.

They got me good this time because instead of trying to dodge them, I was trying to get a clear look at their weaselly asses.

I wanted to remember every one of their faces, so I could personally gun them down later with a cannonade of paintballs.

There’s bruising across the back of my shoulders, and bright purple blooming with an edge of puke yellow across my torso.

That look on his face … pure murder. Maybe he’d be down with our paintball retaliation? I’d love to see him shirtless and Rambo-style with a paintball gun in his hands.

“Stop thinking about me naked, McKinnon,” he scolds.

“Never.” I smirk. “Wanna see the bruise on my ass?”

“No distracting me. I’m not finished with you. What kind of numbskull retribution did you and your frat brethren plan?”

“I—” I open my mouth to lie, but his face is so hard, etched with lines of rage. He’s fucking scary right now. I’ve gone from “Would he join” to hoping I don’t get my ass handed to me. I rub the back of my neck.

He’s still staring at the bruises like they’ve offended him. Like Beta Sigma’s signed a death warrant by touching me.

Luke shakes his head. “No. If you so much as touch a paintball gun, you won’t sit comfortably for a long time, McKinnon.” His hands are on me. They slide over my shoulders, down my back, claiming me in a soft way, mapping out my skin as if he wants to make sure I really exist.

What’s going on in that beastly head of his?

“Promise me, McKinnon. Or do I need to lock you in this office? Don’t think I won’t. Unlike my brother, I don’t give a fuck who your father is.”

Right. The danger in his eyes isn’t just reserved for my enemies, but me, too.

“You don’t understand, sir. We have to do something—I have to do something. We can’t let them get away with this.”

He knocks on my skull. “Use this, McKinnon. I know you have a brain in there. Think democracy instead of brutality.”