Page 28 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

The last note was fading from the air when the applause hit. It was thunderous. I opened my eyes, just a crack at first, then turned my head slightly to the side and saw her.

My ghost, my grandmother, sitting to the side, cheering me on.

Blinking, I stood and nearly stumbled, emotion making me clumsy. A strong hand cupped my elbow and stilled me. Marcus.

I smiled tightly at him, aware of all eyes on us. I went to pass him by to return to my seat and heard his soft murmur.

“Incredible—just like you.”

The Hellions’ stadium was state of the art. I’d heard that Soren Anderson, whose son was on the hockey team, was a very generous donor. It was certainly better than the places where my grandpa and I watched the small local teams play when I was young.

I was carried through the doors by the crowd. People were excited for the game. The black and green hues of the Hellions far outnumbered the blue and yellow of the away team.

“Hey! Here, take this.” Sally appeared at my side, looping a green-and-white scarf around my neck before threading her arm through mine. “Come on, Kenna saved us some seats.”

I’d tried resisting coming to the game, but it seemed that wasn’t a team player kind of thing to do when you’re trying to fit in at a new job.

The faculty went to the Hellion games. It was a given.

I’d protested, tried to think up an excuse, but there wasn’t really one except the truth: I’m trying to stay away from one of the players and going is only going to make it harder.

Yes, that wasn’t something I was admitting to anyone, not even Kenna.

We moved with the crowd up the stairs, past the concession stands, and into the rink.

“I heard that the showcase was incredible,” Sally said with a grin. “Now I definitely need an autograph.”

“You’re sweet, but I haven’t played in a long time, and it shows.

” I flexed my hands, the familiar stiffness flaring in the joints.

After the incident, I’d never really played properly again, before I’d left my life behind.

Today, I could feel the cost of that in my fingers’ hesitation to follow my commands.

Instead of seamless movement, they had dragged.

It made me want to cry for everything I’d lost. Out of all of it, losing my ability to play effortlessly and leave the music world behind was the most painful.

“You were great. Everyone is saying so. Now, sit down and let me paint some school colors on you.” Sally rooted around in her bag as we reached our seats and sat with Kenna and Bill.

“Hey.” Bill waved. “You were perfect earlier. I videoed it. My mom loves it. I might have uploaded it to the school’s social media. I hope you don’t mind, but we never have anything good to put on there.”

I was about to object when Sally took my chin in her hand and turned my face toward her.

“Your mom might be my favorite person in the world,” Kenna said to Bill.

“Yeah, well, I think she prefers you to me, as well, so…” Bill laughed.

“Please, we all know she prefers me , like any member of the female sex with half a brain and functioning eyes.” Wade had made his way along the busy stands and sat next to me, at the end of our group.

“You wish, Professor Casanova,” Kenna called.

“Professor Casanova?” I repeated, moving a little too much for Sally’s liking.

“Hold still, I’m working here,” she muttered.

The touch of a cool wet brush hit my cheek.

“This is a few Hellion colors, and the Ice Gods’ numbers.”

“Who are the Ice Gods?”

The players glided out onto the ice to begin warm-ups. Since I hadn’t been to a game in Hade Harbor yet, I wasn’t up on who the favorite players were.

“Man, I thought you were a hockey fan! The Ice Gods are Hellion royalty. We’ve got Asher Martino, Beckett Anderson, Cayden West, and Marcus Bailey… they are as talented as they are insufferable,” Bill complained.

“Whatever, you love them really.” Sally elbowed him. “They just don’t know you exist.”

“And that is very cruel of them. I mean, do I fantasize about enticing some young, hot, sporty jock into temptation, sure… but the Ice Gods are a lot to handle.”

Marcus was an Ice God. That tracked with his arrogance and confidence.

He probably had hot young girls on campus sighing over his every move.

A twinge of something that felt dangerously like jealousy tugged at me.

Nope. Not going there. Even a few years ago when I had been a young thing on campus, I wasn’t the kind of girl an Ice God would notice…

“But you’d love to handle them, Sally, admit it,” Bill was teasing her.

“Please, I prefer my men on the rough side…”

“Like a biker?” Wade cut in and raised an eyebrow at Sally. “I swear you guys will all have FOMO one day. You should be going out and doing whatever you want… like me.”

Bill and Sally both wrinkled their noses at that and spoke at the same time.

“Pass.”

“Jinx!” Sally crowed. “If I ever got my hands on one of those padding-covered hockey snacks down there, I wouldn’t be discarding them the next morning like they were a used tissue. It’s gross, Wade.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “First of all, I’d never refer to a woman I’d bedded as a used tissue, so you’re the gross one.

Second, every single lady I entertain after office hours knows the deal.

I don’t try and sugarcoat my reputation.

I am loud and proud about what I want. I believe in free will in this country. ”

It seemed I was the only one wrestling with the morality of being involved with a student. It didn’t make me feel better. Wade wasn’t a person I respected.

“Okay, enough conversation for today, or I’ll need someone to pass me a puke bucket,” Bill snapped and pointed to the ice. “Let’s watch the damn game.”

I turned my attention to the players. They were still warming up, circling the ice and stretching.

I didn’t know what three out of four of the Ice Gods looked like, but I still spotted them right away.

There was something about players who had that next-level talent, the ones who knew how to live and breathe the game, that set them apart.

My eyes were drawn to Marcus immediately. He was warming up near the goals, swathed in the extra padding that only goalies wore. Despite that, I could tell it was him.

“The Professor Casanova nickname is a joke,” Wade said beside me.

I turned reluctantly toward him. I didn’t really want to make small talk. I wanted to watch the game, and one player in particular.

“Oh, really?”

Wade nodded. “I’m popular, like any moderately good-looking guy on the faculty might be.” He paused, clearly giving me an opportunity to tell him he was more than moderately good-looking.

“Right,” I agreed instead.

He coughed a little, clearly surprised by my agreement, but forged on.

The buzzer rang, and the game started with strong possession of the puck by the Hellions’ forward, West (who I was only able to identify thanks to the name on his jersey). He raced down the ice, closing in on the opponents’ goals.

“You see, when you teach romantic literature and poetry, well, it can open up a whole new world up for female students… especially ones who are only used to getting dick pics in messages, rather than a love letter.”

“Sorry, what?” I hadn’t been listening, instead watching how Marcus saved an almost guaranteed goal by failing to fall for the shooter’s tricks, and jumping left instead of right.

The audience cheered. The energy in the stadium was electric.

He glanced up in my direction, and even though it should be impossible through his helmet and the distance and partitions between us, I felt his eyes on me.

“I mean, what kind of texts do you get? Anything that makes your heart pound?” Wade was asking.

I dragged my attention back to him. I wryly wondered if sexy threats counted as something that made my heart pound, before shaking my head.

“Exactly my point. A young, beautiful woman like you should be getting handwritten poems.”

I let out a guffaw of laughter at the mental image of Marcus writing out a poem for me. There were men who used flowery words to show you they wanted you, and then there were men who broke into your bedroom at night and woke you up with a finger in your ass.

“I don’t need all that. Romance is not something I’ve ever been that interested in.”

Wade appeared aghast. “Why not?”

I searched for the words. “Because it’s not honest… sometimes, anyway. I mean, you can say all the pretty words and play any kind of part… but actions speak louder than words. What a man says doesn’t mean as much to me as what he does.”

Wade seemed stumped by that. I turned back to the game. The opposing team was lining up to take a shot at the goal. Marcus watched them approach, his body tense with anticipation. He leaned this way and that, trying to guess where they would aim the puck.

How scary must it be, I wondered, waiting for an entire team of huge hockey guys to come barreling at you?

Knowing they were going to shoot something hard and painful at you, and knowing you had to go toward it, not away?

My grandpa had always called the goalie position in hockey the loneliest one.

I understood why now that I cared about the man beneath the helmet.

Cared about him? I drew in a quick breath, my fingers tightening, and then exploded to my feet with the rest of the Hellions fans as Marcus reached out at the last second and grazed the puck with the tip of his glove, just enough to send it spinning off course and away from the net.

Yes, I cared about him. It was impossible to deny it, even in my own head.

My excitement at seeing Marcus pull off an impossible goal save was tempered by watching the fight that kicked off right after.

A player for the opponents pushed Marcus in the chest, and Marcus shoved him back.

Seconds later, the Hellions were piling onto the opposing team, while a huge defenseman with the name Anderson emblazoned across the back was holding Marcus away from the brawl.

The Hellions clearly knew the golden rule of hockey: Protect the goalie.

A weight settled across my shoulders, and I flinched. I’d been so focused on the game, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be talking to Wade. I turned to find his arm around me. I blinked at him, shocked by the move.

“You look cold. It’s freezing in here,” he said, giving me a half-smile that I bet he practiced in the mirror.

“I’m not cold,” I protested and waited for him to move his arm.

He chuckled. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I have body heat to share.”

A loud whistling from the rink had me turning my attention back to the game.

Marcus had gotten out of Anderson’s hold and into the fight. He had taken his gloves off. That was a game-stopping event. His coach was shouting at him, and all play had stopped. The ref was in his face, but he wasn’t looking at him as he got his ass chewed out.

He was looking at me.

The whistle blew again.

“Shit, five-minute major. He better not get ejected,” Sally muttered beside me.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the rink was tense. A goalie dropping gloves was a serious matter. Marcus started arguing back with the ref, then Anderson came up behind him and said something. The ref nodded, and the tension lifted. Marcus took his gloves from Anderson and nodded.

“Five minutes in the penalty box, but Beckett is doing it for him,” Bill muttered.

Marcus went back to the goals as Beckett Anderson went to sit in the penalty box. The whistle sounded. and the game was on again.

I remembered Wade’s arm across my shoulders. Ugh. I shrugged it off and gave him a bland smile.

“I’m really not cold,” I said and wondered why the hell I had to act apologetic for not wanting his touch, something I’d never asked for.

You don’t. Stop explaining yourself to people who don’t deserve it. Stop explaining yourself, period. Marcus’ words from the other day ran through my mind. He was right. So right.

“And honestly, I don’t feel comfortable with it. I’ll wear a sweater if I get cold,” I told Wade, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

“Okay, well, suit yourself,” Wade said, clearly annoyed by my rejection of his offer.

I nodded and turned back to the game, my heart racing. It was a tiny thing, a minuscule stand, but it still felt damn good.