Page 42 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

Marcus

The game had been going to hell since the first buzzer, when Brody sideswiped Cayden and broke around him to score an impossible shot, scoring the first goal of the game with only seconds on the clock.

Fuck. Could the asshole bend time and space?

Brody shot a smug grin at me from across the ice.

Oh, so he was trying to piss me off. Obvious play, but whatever.

News had clearly spread that I’d lost my cool the other day, and now the Sinclair brothers, or maybe even their coach, had cooked up a plan to put the Hellions at a disadvantage, probably by baiting me into losing it and getting ejected from the game.

Then we’d be left with our backup goalie, and Brody and Callahan would wipe the ice with him.

It wasn’t happening. Not today.

I focused on the puck, the gameplay, and the tactics. I started to see a pattern of how the defense moved explosively, distracting our own defensemen, while leaving the forwards on their own. I saved the next two shots, and Asher scored from the wing, evening the total.

I took a deep breath. We were back on track.

The game started again, and a low chuckle met my ear.

“You know, Bailey, I’ve heard a lot of shit about you. Felon father, criminal brother, waste-of-space mother, but I have to admit, fucking your mousy professor to pass the year is something I never thought I’d see.”

Brody skated in front of me, ignoring the gameplay at the other end of the rink. His eyes were focused on me through the slits in his cage. Motherfucker.

I ignored him, watching the match.

He smirked. “You’re not even denying it? I have to admit, she looks like a decent fuck. I’d tit-fuck her, at the very least… And hey, maybe I will after you, if I ever end up at this shithole school. She give out good grades for being left in a puddle of cum, or do you have to get her off, too?”

My mask of indifference was cracking. Ari was my fucking kryptonite, and by Brody’s goading expression, he knew it.

“You passing her around the team? I’ll get in on that… maybe later tonight.”

All the games I’d played and kept my cool, all the pressure I had about my dad and his parole and Cole… all of it boiled up inside me, and I snapped. I absolutely fucking lost it.

I went for him.

I lunged for him and grabbed him by the jersey, spinning us around and back until we met the boards with a hard smack.

The partition shuddered, and the crowd gasped.

I took my gloves off, tossing them onto the ice, and hit Brody right in his asshole face, again and again.

Beckett reached me first, ripping me off him, but I was pushing him away and diving back in immediately, even as the rest of my team joined the action.

They jumped on Brody, making him disappear under a sea of bodies and taking him away from my vengeful fists.

The rest of the opposing team joined the fray.

“Marcus!” Asher shouted in my face.

I stared through a red mist so thick I could barely see through it.

He grabbed me by the helmet and forced my bloodthirsty gaze away from Brody.

His brother, Callahan, was in the mix now, throwing elbows that left players spitting blood.

It was an all-out brawl. I spat on the ice, too, blood filling my mouth.

“Your hand,” Asher said in a tight tone.

Slowly, the red haze faded, and the pain filtered through. I glanced down and saw the cut, long and clean. It sliced up my palm and disappeared under my cuff. Fuck.

The ref was busy pulling people apart, and Coach Williams was screaming from the bench.

The ref glared at me and held his arm up.

“Bailey—expelled.”

Fuck.

The nurse hovered, and a doctor gently stitched up the long gash in my palm.

Coach Willams stood at the end of the bed and watched me with a tight expression.

Fuck. I’d messed up, and we both knew it, and yet, I was finding it hard to care right now.

My phone was clutched in my other hand, open to the tracking app I used to keep an eye on Ari.

She was back at the Night Owl and had sent me a couple of messages asking if I was okay.

“Right, that should do. Don’t get it dirty, take painkillers if you want, and most of all… take care of this hand, Mr. Bailey. The Hellions won’t get anywhere near the finals if you get a more serious injury,” the doctor said disapprovingly.

Everyone in Hade Harbor was a hockey fan. That’s just how it was.

The doctor left, the nurse trailing after him. A dark and brooding figure appeared around the other end of the curtain drawn across my cubicle. His black leather cut and heavy tattoos drew eyes.

Cole glanced between me and Coach, folding his arms over his chest.

“I called your brother,” Coach Williams said.

“I was hoping he could talk some sense into you. This is the second game where you’ve put yourself in harm’s way.

Protect the goalie, Marcus. You know better than this.

When you fight, the entire game stops… your teammates have to put themselves in the line of fire to make sure no one reaches you. It’s not fair.”

I sighed.

“Come on now, I’m sure it wasn’t all Marcus’ fault. That punk Sinclair kid must have said something to him,” Cole surprised me by interjecting. He shot a cool look at Coach. “The Bailey temper can be hard to rouse, but once you achieve it, no one can help you.”

Coach shook his head at me. “What did Brody say?”

I could hardly tell him without outing Ari, so I gave my trademark nonchalant shrug. “Some shit about HHU. What else?”

Coach sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Try not to get into fights with the Sinclair boys… you never know if, or when, you’ll be on the same team one day.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in my hand as I pressed it against the mattress.

Coach Williams shook his head. “Nothing. Get some rest, and I mean real rest. No skipping practice just because you’ve fucked up your hand. I’ll find something for you to do.” He turned at that, nodded a goodbye at Cole, and left.

“Well, he’s a charmer.” Cole leaned his shoulder against the wall and casually rummaged through the drawer beside my bed.

“So, what really happened? He insulted you?”

I snorted. “Since when would that rile me up?”

Cole nodded. “Exactly, never. So, that means he insulted someone else… one of your Ice God buddies, or their women, your family… or someone else. Someone new.” Cole’s shrewd gaze slid to me. “I hear you brought your teacher for dinner at The Clutch.”

“Oh, do you? I didn’t know Harbor Hounds were such gossips. I guess it’s tea, knitting, and gossip circles over there.”

Cole narrowed his eyes at me, undistracted by my obvious attempt to change the subject.

“Who is she?”

“You already know,” I told him shortly and stood.

Cole eyed me. “Your teacher…”

“She’s an adjunct professor, actually, and so fucking talented—you have no idea.”

Cole studied me. “You like her enough to get kicked off the team for her? I thought you wanted this… hockey.”

“I do. You know I do.”

Cole sighed and pushed off the wall. “Then stop fucking it up. Don’t let the Bailey temper drag you down… like the rest of us.” He stopped in front of me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Resist the urge to fuck your life up. I know it’s strong, but you need to be stronger.”

Then he turned and left, leaving me perplexed by his words. Cole didn’t do life advice, and he certainly never encouraged my hockey ambitions.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

Asher: You get bandaged up? Better hurry up and make it back for the party.

Fuck, the Hellions’ dorm party. I’d forgotten. It was the centennial anniversary week of the Hellions’ team, and we were throwing a costume party at the dorms. There was nowhere I wanted to go less.

Marcus: I think I’ll pass. I’m beat.

Beckett: Getting your ass spanked by Coach by being a fucking moron took its toll, right?

Cayden: You can’t pass. You’re the reason all these fucking strangers are in our dorm. Get back here or I’m setting off the fire alarm.

Asher: Agreed.

Beckett: Does this mean the party king himself has fallen?

Asher: I guess a few stitches and sharp words from Coach, and the party’s over.

I sighed and typed out a quick response. Those motherfuckers. They meant well, but sometimes it got grating always being the one who held the group together. The social one, the party king, the fucking glue. It was exhausting sometimes. More than sometimes.

Me: I’m on my way.

I grabbed my jacket and headed out of the emergency department. Cole stood at the reception desk flirting with lovestruck nurses, looking downright dangerous in his leather against the white, sterile background and baby-pink scrubs.

My phone rang. The caller’s name flashed over the screen.

Birthday Girl calling.

I didn’t answer. Just the thought of the game and Brody fucking Sinclair making comments about Ari made me see red.

My temper was far from cool. Still, I wanted to see my girl…

but I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want her concern, or worse, a teacherly lecture about behaving on the ice.

No, I wasn’t in the mood for any of that…

I was in the mood for burying myself as far inside my little off-limits professor as I could, sealing her lips closed with mine, making her smell like me…

reminding her and myself that she was already mine.

Yes, that was exactly what I needed. But I was meant to be staying away from her. I was meant to be proving that I could do that, even if it hurt.

But there was nothing in the rules we’d agreed to that she couldn’t come to me…

I sent the call to voicemail and dropped her a location instead.

If you want to see me… come and find me.