Page 35 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

Reluctantly, I walk out of the room, leaving my heart behind. My whole world used to be hockey. Now, it’s that woman, her hair in messy braids, her feet in worn out Converse, with tears in her eyes and her chin held high.

I love her. Irrevocably.

I only hope I have the chance to tell her, someday.

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Willa tells me, patting my shoulder as she walks with me out the door.

“Never doubted that for a second.” I try to smile at her. “Did she tell you?”

“What you did? Yes.”

“It was bad, but it’s not what she thinks. I’m not in love with Isla. I never was,” I say. “This isn’t to get you on my side or anything. I’m in love with Kit. I have been for weeks, now.”

She looks at me with a mix of sympathy and something else. Probably pity, since I fucked my chances so miraculously.

“Actually, I knew that as soon as I heard you were flying here.”

“It felt important that I tell someone,” I say, not understanding my reasoning enough to vocalize it. I only know that I had to tell somebody. “I told her I’m not leaving Maine until she does. Whether she wants to include me in anything here is up to her. I’ll be here, though. In case.”

“That’s sweet of you, Tyson,” she says as a truck pulls down the driveway. “I wonder who that is. Her father?”

A man drives the truck, a cap on his head making it hard to tell his age. Unease tickles the back of my neck. There’s no man in this state that Kit would want to see.

“Go inside, Willa,” I say. “If Kit wants to talk to whoever it is, she can let me know. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, and rushes into the house while I wait for the man to exit the vehicle.

He hesitates when he gets closer to me, as if he underestimated my size—or maybe the scowl on my face. First impressions matter, and I want his first one to be clear: he must get through me to get to her. Friend or foe, I’m his first obstacle.

“Uh, hey,” he says.

“Who are you?” I cross my arms over my chest, my stance wide as I block the path to the house.

“I’m a friend of the family.”

“Whose friend? Be specific.”

“Of Carl’s. Kit’s dad. We go way back,” he says, and my veins chill. Did this motherfucker think he could show up here and take advantage of her vulnerability? Again.

“What’s your name, man?”

“Derik.”

Fuck my life, I’m going to jail tonight.

“Derik what?” I ask. The front door of the house opens behind me; a quick glance tells me it’s Damian who has stepped out—not Kit.

“Johnston.”

“Hey, Damian?”

“Yes,” he replies slowly, his single word dripping with pleasure at what he knows is about to happen. He comes across as polite, mature, classy. But Damian March has a darker side, I’m sure of it.

“I’m going to need a witness.”

“It’s self-defense, my friend. I saw him swing first,” Damian says.

“What the fuck?” Derik says, taking a step back. Not far enough, because I easily grab his shirt with my left hand as I jab with my right. The crack I hear when my fist meets his nose is the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard. The instant gush of blood makes my heart pump faster.

“What the hell? I’ll call the cops.”

“You think a night in jail scares me more than the pleasure I’ll get from putting a rapist in the hospital?” I tighten my grip. He tries to push me away, but I have height, reach, and strength on him. Another swing makes contact with his eye.

“Rape?” he protests. “I didn’t rape anyone!”

He swings his arms wildly. The only one that finds purchase on my face feels more like he hit me with a pillow than a hand. It may still leave a mark, but it’s nothing compared to what I’m used to from a little brawl on the ice.

“Did she say yes, you motherfucker? Coercion isn’t consent,” I say, and I don’t stop swinging. Nor do I stop yelling in his face, which is becoming slick with blood, now. “Did she fucking say yes? Answer me, asshole! Did she say yes?”

“N…no,” he finally stammers.

“What was that?” I ask, landing another blow to his side while I hold his weight up against the side of his truck. He’s already weak—this didn’t last nearly as long as I’d like.

“No,” he repeats.

I shove him, and he falls to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m going to find out if you’ve done this to other women,” Damian says, stepping up beside me.

He rolls Derik over with a shove of his foot.

“In fact, I’m going to find out everything about you.

Every horrible thing you’ve ever done, you piece of shit.

If it’s as bad as I think it is, I’m going to share it all with my friend, here, and then we’re going to ruin your fucking life. ”

“Fuck you, I have a family,” he mumbles.

“Yeah? Do they know you’re a rapist?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t—”

“Be very careful with what you say to me, right now,” I warn, squatting down to get close to his face. “You’re able to drive out of here, but that can change quickly.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did. And what the fuck did you come here for, tonight?”

“I…I have a daughter, now,” he cries.

“So, you came here to what? Relieve your guilt?” Damian asks. Derik nods.

“Selfish prick.” I spit on the ground next to him. “You came here for you, without thinking that it could hurt her more. Get the fuck out of here. Don’t ever come near her again, or I’ll fucking kill you. This was your warning.”

He scrambles to his feet and fumbles with the door to his truck.

“Seek some fucking therapy, asshole,” Damian says, giving Derik a final shove into his truck. Neither of us moves until his truck has turned out of the driveway.