Page 17 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

Marcus

The buzzer split the air like a whip.

For a second, everything froze—crowd, teammates, my heartbeat. Then the roar hit.

I stayed on one knee, my glove still outstretched from the final save. The puck sat dead in the curve of my pad like it belonged there. I couldn’t hear anything over the blood thundering in my ears, but I could see my team flying toward me—sticks raised, mouths open in triumphant chaos.

Victory. A last-minute save that won us the game.

The scoreboard still blinked 3–2. That last breakaway had nearly gutted me, a slap shot slicing low, glove side—my weakness. Not today. Not this time.

The Hellions piled on me, arms thudding into my chest protector. I looked up at the ceiling lights and let myself feel it—just for a second.

That electric, breathless high of holding the line. A moment in time when nothing else mattered. It was an addictive feeling that nothing else in my life had ever topped.

In the changing room, the guys chattered about the after-party, and the next game, and the next time we’d meet this same team, but at home.

“Are you coming home with Beckett?” Asher waited for me to pack my pads up.

“No, I’ve got something to do locally. I’ll see you back at the dorms.”

Ash frowned at me. “What kind of thing do you have to do here?”

I shrugged. He was fishing, but I wasn’t falling for it. The less I got involved in Harbor Hound business, the better, and that included telling anyone too much. Asher might be one of my best friends, but reminding him how shitty my family situation was wasn’t on the top of my priority list.

“Well, take care, man.” Asher reached out to slap my hand in a goodbye shake we’d been doing since high school, but he didn’t let go like usual. He held on, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t let anyone fuck up your life for you.”

I pulled my hand away and shook my head. “I won’t. You know I can do that perfectly well on my own.”

I wasn’t kidding. As usual, my amused tone made a joke of the truth. It was a gift I’d discovered early on in life. You could say the saddest, most disturbing shit, lay your bleeding heart bare, as long as you grinned when you said it.

I headed out of the locker room after everyone else had left and went up to the level where the spectators usually entered.

Up there were food kiosks, closing for the night, public bathrooms, and public lockers.

My brother had already messaged me the locker number.

All I had to do was take the bag inside back to Hade Harbor with me and keep it safe until Cole needed it.

Five minutes later, I had the bag. It was bigger than I’d thought it would be and damn inconvenient to carry. Luckily, the team bus hadn’t left yet. I climbed on and shoved both my bags into overhead bins, then sank into a seat.

Needing a more pleasant distraction than thinking about the bag stashed above, I took out my phone.

I had messages from my brother, some random puck bunnies who’d found out my number (and who I’d block), my Ice Gods group chat, and nothing else.

Nothing from the person I wanted to hear from.

I brought up the number I’d saved earlier under Birthday Girl.

You’ve had time to think about my terms, Professor. Text me your address. I won tonight on the ice, and I have a post-win ceremony to complete.

After a second, the little ticks on the message changed to blue. She’d read it. I waited for the dots that would show me she was replying.

And waited… and waited.

Nothing. She wasn’t replying. She’d left me on read. A reluctant chuckle escaped me, and I stared hard at the screen, willing my new professor to stop challenging me. It would piss me off if it didn’t turn me on so much.

Maybe what I’d been missing in my predictable love life was resistance. Ari was a fucking handful so far, and she had my attention.

A new game to play with a worthy opponent… and a delicious prize to claim at the end.

It sounded fun.

Let the games begin, Professor. I’m all warmed up and ready to go .

We got back to Hade Harbor around midnight.

I quickly picked up my motorcycle from the Hellions’ parking lot and headed into town.

I had to drop off the bag at The Clutch and lock it away in the back bedroom.

The one with the uncrackable code that Ari had found so amusing.

Like I’d told her, no one stole from The Clutch.

The disrespect wasn’t something my brother would tolerate.

Once it was done, I headed back to the Hellions’ dorm.

It was late, and my bike’s engine purred, echoing around the quiet buildings of Main Street.

My phone rang with an unknown number, and I pulled over to answer.

My mother often called from whoever’s phone she could get a hold of, and she’d memorized my number long ago.

She knew the weak link in the family, the one who’d always send cash.

Despite knowing she was only using me, I could never bring myself to change the number.

“Marcus?” a deep whisper sounded in my ear.

I switched off the engine and stood. I’d know that voice anywhere.

I held my tongue. There was a strange, muffled sound, like someone was speaking with their head under the covers, which, knowing my father, he probably was. I walked up the street, needing the distraction of physical activity while talking to the worst person I knew.

“Marcus, can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

My father blew out a breath. “Good. Are you coming to visit this weekend? My lawyer wants to see you.”

“I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Fuck busy. This is important. Your brother was going to talk to you about it.”

“He did, and I’m still busy. What do you want anyway? Cole will come.” I kept walking. The muffled sound made sense now. He was calling from a smuggled burner phone instead of an official prison phone.

“I don’t need Cole. I need you to come. It has to be you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“It just does. Stop questioning me, boy! I’m your goddamn father, and if I say come, you come. Be fucking useful for once,” my dad spat down the phone, quickly shedding the kind and cajoling tone he’d been using.

I stopped and stared at the shop beside me.

There was a catcher’s mitt in the window.

On the promo for the mitt, a dad was throwing the ball for his son.

“ Spend time getting to know the man he’ll become.

” The slogan and picture style looked ripped from a 1950s magazine.

Maybe it was. One thing was for sure, whether my dad had lived then, or now, he’d still be a shitty parent.

“I played a big game tonight. Saved the winning goal right on the buzzer,” I murmured into my cell.

Silence greeted that comment before my father sighed. “And?”

“I thought you might want to know what I’m doing in my life,” I said flatly.

“Big whoop, I’m in fucking jail, Marcus. Stop being selfish and help me. I’ll see you Saturday,” he said, his tone certain, and hung up.

I clutched my cell hard in my hand, letting the edges dig into my palm. It still stung from catching the glass the other night, but the pain was good; it cleared my head.

I crossed the street, heading toward the only lit-up building on the block.

The Chickadee Diner. I’d been coming to the Chickadee since I was a boy.

The food was cheap and plentiful, and it was open all kinds of hours.

Going back to the Hellions’ dorm right now didn’t hold any appeal, and neither did The Clutch.

I glanced through the window as I walked past and was stopped in my tracks by the sight of Ari, sitting in a booth.

She was laughing at something the woman across from her had said.

The dark turmoil and disappointment brewing in my gut dissipated.

That was what I needed. The perfect distraction.

If I was a man with any kind of faith, I’d think that she’d been put there at this moment, exactly when I needed her, for a reason.

But I knew better than that. There was no fate, other than the shitty decisions people made.

Nothing was ever given, and if it was, it wasn’t to a guy like me.

I only had what I’d fought for in this life, or taken.

As I stepped inside the diner, I found myself wondering which Ari would be.