Page 20

Chapter twenty

~ DAMIEN~

The puck drops, and the game ignites like a spark to gasoline. Rowan wins the faceoff with a clean swipe, and the play unfolds fast. It’s a blur of black and white jerseys, blades slicing the ice, sticks clashing like swords. The Vipers are damn good, but we’re better.

Ares moves the puck up the ice with a series of quick passes, staying just out of reach of Jake Barren and his goons. I hang back, reading the play and watching for my opening. The Vipers set up a wall of defense near the crease, and I see Rowan peel away from his mark, his stick tapping twice against the ice—a signal. I cut left, drawing their enforcer with me, and Rowan takes the shot.

The puck slams into the goalie’s pads and ricochets off. A scramble erupts in the crease, bodies crashing into each other as everyone fights for control. I lunge forward, stick extended, and manage to flick the puck loose. Ares snags it and fires, his slapshot like a bullet.

Goal.

The red light flashes, and the arena erupts. The crowd’s up on their feet, fists pumping in the air. Ares skates past me with a smirk.

“Nice assist, Colton,” he says, tapping his stick against mine. He rarely uses my last name, even when we’re playing.

“You’re welcome, Black,” I shoot back, grinning.

The game resets, and the intensity ramps up. Hits come harder. Plays get faster. My job is to keep the pressure on, and that means getting in their faces. I shove one of Jake’s wingmen into the boards, the sound of the collision echoing through the arena. He bounces off and glares at me.

“What? Too much for you?” I grin, skating backward with my arms wide.

It’s midway through the third period, and tension is hanging by a thread. We’re still up by one, but barely. Every pass, every block, every second feels like it could tip the scales. The Vipers are playing dirty now, elbows high, sticks slashing, chirps flying. But that’s hockey. We’ll be lucky if we win this without any injuries.

Jake has been shadowing me the whole game. He’s been in my ear every time we’re within reach of each other. Talking shit, trying to get under my skin. Usually, I tune it out. But tonight, I’m teetering on the edge.

We’re waiting for a faceoff near our blue line when he sidles up to me.

“Colton,” he says, his voice low enough that the refs can’t hear. “Did DiMarco’s little sister tell you about our dance at the club the other day?”

My spine stiffens. I turn to look at him, and he’s smiling like he’s got me on a leash.

“Ah, so she didn’t tell you?” he continues, casually tapping his stick against the ice. “I just thought you should know, since it looks like you’re fucking her.”

“Shut your fuck’n mouth,” I growl.

Jake leans in, his smirk widening. “You should keep your girl on a leash. I think she liked grinding on my dick.”

And that’s it. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I drop my gloves, grab him by the collar, and land the first punch square in his mouth. He stumbles back, but I’m on him before he can recover, slamming him into the boards so hard the glass rattles.

“Get the fuck off me,” he spits, his hands coming up to shove me back, but I’m not done. I yank his helmet off and toss it aside.

I respond by yanking him down by his jersey. My fist connects with his jaw, then his cheekbone. He tries to throw a punch, but I block it easily, slamming him onto the ice.

The whistles are deafening now. Refs are screaming, players swarming. Someone grabs my arms, trying to pull me off, but I shake them off. Jake’s face is bloody, and he’s coughing but still smirking.

“How is it, man?” he croaks, spitting blood. “Bet DiMarco’s little sister must be all pink and tight down there. We should share her some time—”

That’s when I see red. Completely, utterly red. I pull him by the jersey, my fist pounding into his face over and over.

Jake shoves me, gets up, and tries to skate backward, but I grab his jersey again and yank him back down, pinning him down with my knees. My fist connects with his jaw.

“Colton, that’s enough! Get off him!” one of the refs shouts, skating over to pull me away.”

“Get control of your guy, Brown!” another ref yells toward Coach.

Jake tries to swing back, landing a weak hit to my ribs, but it doesn’t matter. I slam him into the ice as the crowd gasps. My knuckles keep connecting with his face.

“Damien, stop!” It’s Rowan’s voice now, sharp and cutting. He’s skating toward me, his face a mask of fury, but I don’t stop. Not when Jake’s still mouthing off.

“That’s enough, Colton!” the head ref shouts, blowing his whistle repeatedly. I barely register the linesmen trying to pull me back. Two of them grab my arms, and it takes both of them to drag me off him. My chest heaves as I stumble backward, blood dripping from my knuckles. Jake’s lying on the ice, grunting through the mess of blood and developing bruises on his face.

“You’re a fucking psycho, Colton,” he groans, spitting out blood as medics rush to his side.

“Get him off the fucking ice,” Coach yells from the bench, his face red with anger. “Now!”

The arena is chaos. Fans are shouting, the announcers scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Players from both teams are screaming at each other, and the refs are trying to regain control. But the damage is done.

“Suspension, Colton!” the head ref snaps, pointing at me as two linesmen skate me toward the bench.

I look up, my eyes scanning the sea of shouting people. Finally, I spot my girl already looking at me, worry written all over her face. Suddenly, the arena goes silent, the shouts and whistle blows turning into nothing as I watch her. Her lips are moving, but the sound of her voice doesn’t reach me. But I know what she’s saying. She’s calling out my name. God, this isn’t how I wanted this game to go. I should be out there playing instead of spending time in the fucking box. How much time are they giving me?

I glance back at the rink, my senses coming back to life as the sound of everyone roaring comes back.

My eyes land on Rowan who’s looking at me, shaking his head in disapproval.

My helmet is gone, my hair sticking to my sweat-soaked forehead as I glance up at the scoreboard and then to Coach Brown, who’s walking toward me. No, he’s stomping toward me. Shit.

“Match penalty, Colton,” he roars in my face. Fuck.

The night air is cool against my skin, and my ears are still ringing from the loud music. I lean back in the lounge chair, legs stretched out, whiskey glass dangling loosely from my fingers. The lights from the pool ripple across the water, creating fractured patterns on the patio around me.

The Panthers won.

Even with me out for most of the game, the guys held their own. They worked their asses off and pulled it off. A win is a win, but it didn’t feel like one—not for me. Not when I had to watch it play out from the side, pacing like a caged animal.

Press conferences followed—a chance to explain myself in that careful, media-friendly way the team expects. Coach gave me hell, Rowan was on my ass the entire way home, and then there was the party.

I should’ve let the victory party take me under like I usually do, surrounded by music, noise, and whatever distraction I want at my fingertips. But tonight, the noise grated, the crowd felt suffocating, and the usual offer of girls throwing themselves my way seemed so fucking hollow. They’re not my girl.

So now, I’m here. Alone. The drink burns its way down, not doing a damn thing to take the edge off.

My gaze drifts upward to her window before I can stop it.

Avery’s light flickers on.

She stayed in with her friend after the game. Her friend must’ve left already because Avery looks like she’s alone.

She fully steps into view, not wearing Rowan’s jersey anymore. Instead, she has a loose T-shirt and those little shorts that made my brain short-circuit the first time I saw them. Her hair’s loose, falling untamed over her shoulders in soft waves down her back. She doesn’t notice me at first, moving around her room and adjusting things on her desk. Then she glances out the window, and our eyes meet.

I expect her to look away, to do that shy thing where she fidgets and pretends she didn’t see me. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she smiles. It’s small, soft. Just for me.

She pulls out her phone and types something on it before looking back up.

My phone buzzes on the table beside me, pulling my attention away. I grab it, her name lighting up the screen.

AVERY: Are you okay?

I stare at the words for a moment, then glance back up at her window. She’s sitting on her bed now, her phone glowing in her hands.

But before I can type anything, movement behind her catches my eye.

Rowan.

He steps into her room, his face tired but still carrying that stern edge he always has after games. They exchange a few words I can’t hear, and then he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Avery nods, saying something back, and Rowan lingers for a second longer before turning and closing the door behind him.

I look back down at my phone, her message still staring up at me.

I type back.

ME : Shouldn’t you be asleep?

The dots appear, vanish, then reappear. She’s hesitating, trying to figure out what to say.

AVERY: I was waiting for you to come back.

That stops me. Waiting for me to come back. No one has waited for me to come home before. I swallow and type out a reply.

ME: Well, I’m here now. What are you going to do?

I glance up again, watching her. She’s biting her lip now, her fingers tightening around the phone like she’s thinking too hard. Then something shifts.

She stands up and walks over to the window. My brows knit together as she opens it, sticking her head out to glance around.

What the hell is she doing?

The next thing I know, she’s climbing out.

My heart kicks up as she lands softly on the grass below, her slippers barely making a sound. A grin stretches across my face as I watch my girl sneak out.

She looks back at the house once, then darts toward the driveway, disappearing into the shadows.

I’m already halfway to the door when the doorbell rings.

I open it, and there she is, in her pajamas and slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

“Hi,” she whispers, looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

I lean against the doorframe, letting my gaze drag over her. The T-shirt is too big, hanging off one shoulder, and her hair is still a mess from her quick escape.

“Making a habit of sneaking out of windows for me?” I hold back a smile, arching a brow.

She bites her lip, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks.

“I had to see you,” she says under her breath. This is a sight to behold. I didn’t have to blackmail her to come over this time. Didn’t even have to ask. Shy little Avery snuck out to come to me all on her own.

I finally let the smile out as I take her hand and pull her inside. My girl deserves a reward for her bravery.