Page 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Reggie

I stomp into the kitchen, my boots thudding against the tiled floor, and reach for a protein bar on the counter.

Ambrose hovers in the corner, his presence as ominous as a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury.

He’s been brooding all morning, his silence more volatile than words. Ever since Kenzie’s confession, we’ve avoided discussing things, but today, his mood has curdled into outright hostility.

“Ye gonna glare at me all mornin’ or actually say what’s crawled up yer arse ?” I mutter, wrestling the wrapper open with my teeth, the crinkling sound sharp in the tense air.

“You,” he snaps, his voice as sharp as breaking glass, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You’re just…so damn flippant about everything. Like nothing bothers you.”

I scoff, biting into the protein bar, the dense mixture of peanut butter and oats clinging stubbornly to my tongue.

“Ye think this is me not carin’? Jesus, Ambrose, we’ve got a whole mess in our laps, and yer actin’ like I’m the problem ‘cause I’m not sittin’ ‘round mopin’ like you.”

His fist comes down hard on the counter, making the coffee pot rattle and the mugs tremble. “Maybe take something seriously for once, Reggie!”

I shove the protein bar into my pocket, stepping closer, eyes locked with his. “Aye, I take Kenzie seriously. But yellin’ at me like some moody bastard ain’t gonna fix this!”

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching beneath his skin, and his hazel eyes flash with a challenge, daring me to argue. The air between us is thick.

This isn’t about me; it’s about him, lost without Braden to mediate, and without Kenzie to guide us on what the hell she wants.

The car ride is an absolute disaster. Ambrose and I don’t stop bickering the entire journey to the rink. Each word we exchange is as sharp as a blade, every insult just another log fueling the fiery tension between us.

"Yer wound so damn tight, Ambrose," I mutter, trying to keep my eyes on the road. "Ye need a drink, a shag, or a hobby."

His voice is taut with frustration. "And you need to stop pretending everything is fine, Reggie! Braden left, Kenzie’s pregnant, and we’re just supposed to sit back and let things work out?"

I scoff, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while gesturing with the other. "Aye, ‘cause what else can we do? Force her tae talk? Drag Braden home by his ears?"

His hand on the wheel is ironclad, knuckles pale in the light. "At least I’m trying!" he snaps, his voice a pitched note of desperation and anger.

We storm into the rink. The guys notice immediately, their eyes darting between us, but we’re both too stubborn to offer an explanation. We just hit the ice, skating through warmups in tense silence.

Then, without warning, Ambrose barrels into me. I barely catch a glimpse of his determined expression before his shoulder crashes into my ribs, sending a shockwave through my body and knocking me off balance.

I stumble, catching myself just in time, then whirl around, fury igniting in my chest like a wildfire.

I don’t think.

I just react.

My fist flies through the air, connecting with his jaw, the impact reverberating up my arm like a lightning strike. Ambrose staggers back, eyes wide, staring at me as if I’ve just committed a grave betrayal.

Coach’s whistle shrieks through the air, cutting through the tension. "Reggie, what the hell was that? Get back in formation before I throw your ass off my ice!"

Ambrose grins, wiping a trickle of blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks amused, the bastard, and that only fuels my anger further.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to skate back into formation. But inside me, a storm rages, and I know I’m not done.

I don't wait long. The instant the next drill begins, I pivot as if I'm going left, then drive my shoulder hard into Ambrose's chest.

He lets out a grunt, his skates skidding, nearly losing his balance on the slick ice. The satisfaction rushes through me. Payback, you smug bastard.

Suddenly, fists are flying.

Ambrose grips my jersey with a fierce determination, attempting to drag me down, but I’m quicker, my knuckles connecting sharply with his abdomen.

“Ye wanna keep pushin’, Ambrose?” I snarl, my grip firm on the collar of his jersey, our breaths mingling in frosty clouds.

He shoves back, his eyes blazing with defiance. “You think I’m gonna let you get the last hit?” he hisses, leaning into the fight.

Around us, teammates are scrambling, their shouts blending with the shrill blasts of Coach’s whistle. The ice beneath our blades is a chaotic mess of scratches, our lungs working overtime with the surge of adrenaline and fury.

“ENOUGH!” Coach’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. “If you two don’t get your bullshit under control you’ll both be off the team! Get off the fucking ice and go take some cold showers!”

Neither of us budges, our glares locked in a silent battle.

“I said NOW!” Coach booms, authority crackling in his tone.

I skate off, muscles tense, my jaw clenched, the blood in my veins racing like wildfire. Ambrose trails behind, his curses tumbling out in a low, angry stream.

The moment the locker room door slams shut behind us, Ambrose and I rip off our gloves, our breaths coming fast and heavy as we eye each other like two rabid dogs ready to pounce.

"Ye absolute bastard!" I snarl, shoving him hard in the chest, my hand meeting the firm resistance of his padded hockey gear. "Ye had tae go and start somethin’ on the ice, didn’t ye?"

Ambrose barely stumbles, his skates scraping against the floor, before lunging forward, his fists clenching my jersey with a fierce grip. "Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent in this, Reggie! You threw the first punch, you reckless shit!"

"Aye, because ye skated at me like a fuckin’ battering ram!" I snap back, grabbing the collar of his jersey and pulling him down so our foreheads nearly collide, our eyes locked in a furious stare.

He grits his teeth, his jaw tight, and shoves back against me. "Because you won’t stop running your damn mouth!"

We grapple, twisting and shoving, our skates squeaking against the tile floor as we struggle for dominance. A metal bench digs painfully into my side as Ambrose tries to wrestle me down onto it.

I retaliate by driving an elbow into his ribs, not hard enough to cause real damage, but enough to make him back off momentarily. He grunts, a sharp exhalation, but refuses to relent.

We exchange a few half-hearted swings, wild and sloppy punches that barely connect, more about venting our frustration than inflicting pain. It’s the pent-up anger that fuels our clumsy blows, not a desire to hurt.

After a few more seconds of grunting and shoving, our energy wanes, and we both collapse back onto the bench, chests heaving, sweat dripping down our faces.

I rub my face with a hand, wiping away the perspiration. "Fuck," I mutter, the word escaping in a breathless sigh.

“Yeah, fuck. This is about Kenzie, isn’t it?” he finally mutters, his voice low and simmering with accusation.

I retaliate by snapping my towel at him, the fabric cracking sharply through the heavy air. “Course it is, ye dense bastard,” I retort, my words sharp and laced with frustration.

He locks eyes with me, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Then say it,” he demands, his voice a challenge.

I rake a hand through my damp, tangled hair, letting out a long, weary sigh. “She lied, Ambrose. She hid it from us. And Braden? He ran off because of it.”

Ambrose leans back against the cold metal lockers, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow of concern. “You think she’s gonna leave us too?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with uncertainty.

I don’t answer, my silence weighing heavy because the truth is, I just don’t know.

Suddenly, our phones buzz in unison, the vibrations cutting through the charged silence.

We both freeze, eyes darting to the screens.

It’s a text from Braden.

Then my phone starts ringing with an incoming call.

I exchange a tense glance with Ambrose before we both swipe to answer at the same time.

“Well, well,” Braden’s voice crackles through the line, static humming in the background. “I finally get service again and what do I see? You two idiots trying to make our girl leave us for good.”

“Braden,” I breathe, my voice a jumble of relief and frustration. “Where the hell are ye?”

“More importantly,” Ambrose interjects, his tone sharp and demanding, “what the fuck are you thinking, running off like that?”

Braden is silent for a moment, the pause stretching out like a taut wire. Then, in a voice quieter than I expect, he says, “I just needed time, guys, but I think I’m ready to come home.”

I press the phone tighter to my ear, my heart pounding like a drum as Braden's voice crackles through the speaker, distorted by static.

"What do ye mean, ye’re comin’ home?" I demand, shooting a glance at Ambrose, whose brows are drawn into a stormy scowl, his fists clenching as if he wants to throw the phone against the wall. "Ye made it sound like ye were takin’ a bloody month out there in the Russian wilderness!"

Braden's voice comes through with a weary sigh. "Yeah, well, I just got service again and saw all the messages. Jesus, guys, what the hell happened while I was gone?"

Ambrose exhales heavily, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "We had a fight with Kenzie. She’s not talkin’ to us anymore," he mutters toward the receiver, his voice laced with regret.

A tense silence fills the air, and then Braden mutters, "You absolute dumbasses."

His words hit like a slap, and I straighten up on the locker room bench, my back rigid with defensiveness.

"Aye? And what were we supposed to do, huh?" I retort, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She kept it from us! She bloody told ye, but not us. She doesn’t trust us, Braden!" My voice echoes off the cold, tiled walls, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Braden exhales sharply, his voice laced with exasperation. "Jesus, Reggie. She’s scared. You know what kind of family she comes from. You two losing your shit at her just proved exactly why she thought she had to keep it a secret!"

Ambrose lets out a string of curses under his breath, his pacing picking up speed across the locker room floor.

"So what now?" I snap, the tension in my voice cutting through the air like a knife. "What do ye expect us to do?"

"Nothing." Braden's voice is sharp, resolute. "I’m cutting my trip short. I’m coming home to fix things before you two ruin this even more." His words are followed by the abrupt click of the call ending, leaving us in the echoing silence of our own mistakes.

I stare at the phone, my fingers clenching around it, stunned by the message Braden just delivered. The guy had barely given us the time of day before announcing he was swooping in like some kind of white knight to save the day.

"Cocky bastard," I mutter under my breath, feeling the heat of irritation rise in my chest.

Ambrose exhales loudly, his breath echoing in the quiet room as he leans his head back against the cold metal lockers, eyes closed. "He’s right, though," he admits reluctantly.

I glance at him, my brows pulling together in confusion and frustration. "Aye? And what do ye propose we do, Ambrose? Ye think we just show up at her door beggin’ like lost puppies?" My voice is sharp.

Ambrose lets out a dry laugh, the sound hollow in the echoing space. "Wouldn’t be the worst idea," he replies.

All I can think about is Kenzie standing in the parking lot, tears in her eyes, looking so damn small as she got into her car and drove away.

The memory twists in my stomach like a knife.

I never wanted to hurt her. Not like that.

"All right," I sigh, the word heavy with resignation. "Fine. Let’s say Braden actually manages tae get her talkin’ again. How do we fix this? ‘Cause I’m comin’ up empty." My voice wavers, the uncertainty gnawing at me.

Ambrose shakes his head slowly, his hazel eyes dark and clouded with frustration. "I don’t know, man," he admits.

And that’s what scares me the most. We always have a plan. Always have some idea of how to handle things, a strategy to fall back on.

But this time?

This time, I’ve got nothin’.

I just hope Braden does.