Page 21 of Wild Pucking Love (The Cleveland Vortex #1)

TWENTY

WRENLY

The last time I watched the hockey game, I didn’t really pay much attention to what was happening on the ice. Sure, I looked for and watched Eli, but I had no skin in the game at all. Now, as I watch the players move around, their sticks and skates whipping around, I find myself sitting on the edge of my seat, a ball of nerves.

“He’s going to be okay. Even if he gets into a fight or something, they have all that gear on,” Clara announces next to me.

Tearing my gaze from the ice, I shift it to meet hers. “A fight?” I ask.

Her lips curve up into a grin. “A fight. Which is likely because there is a lot riding on this game.”

Just as she says those words, I hear a loud crash, and then the crowd starts yelling. Whipping my head around, I stare at the sight in front of me. It’s Eli slamming his shoulder into a player for the opposite team. He then slams his body against the glass and then pushes against Eli before he skates away.

I don’t like this. Not even a little bit.

I stare at the players moving around the ice, my body now filled with double the amount of anxiety that it was just moments ago, and try to breathe. My knee starts bouncing, and thankfully, Ryan enjoys the ride because I don’t think I could stop it if I wanted to. He squeals as the game continues, and my stomach clenches as each minute passes.

“He’s going to be fine,” Clara repeats, curling her fingers around my forearm. “I used to get really nervous, too. I’m better now, but I get it. Usually, my best friends come and watch the games with me, and it helps with distractions.”

“Where are they?” I ask, feeling like I could use those distractions right about now.

My words come out sharp, and I feel bad for that, but I’m so nervous that my entire body is on edge. I wish I could call out to Eli and ask him to go home because this is too much. Too much pressure, too dangerous, too scary, and too intense. Just too much of everything.

“They had stuff going on tonight. They’re usually here. But I don’t think they had their schedules cleared out for tonight ahead of time because these are the playoffs.”

“Do they not always make the playoffs?” I ask, trying to look away from the ice, but my eyes are focused on one man and one man only.

Abbott

Number fifteen.

And when someone from the other team slams his shoulder into Eli, sending him against the glass with a hard clap, I rise to my feet. The crowd goes wild. There is screaming and chanting happening all around me, and I don’t know what’s happening until I see gloves flying every which way, landing on the ice around them.

Then fists come out.

Bare fists.

Both of them start punching each other, gripping their jerseys, and then I watch as they go down to the ice. I hold my breath without even realizing that I’m holding my breath until I feel like my lungs are going to explode, and I am forced to release it.

Then the fight is up, and everyone is screaming around me. I hold Ryan against my chest, and then I watch as Eli and the other man are escorted to the other side of the ice, still hurling inaudible screams at one another and shaking their fists before they’re put inside small clear boxes and sit down.

Turning my head, I look over to Clara, and I know that I appear horrified because I am. She gives me a small smile and touches my arm.

“It’s okay,” she says, attempting to soothe me as she pats my forearm gently, but it doesn’t work.

“What just happened?” I ask in a whisper.

She squeezes my forearm. “That was a fight, and they got put in time-out. That’s what happened.”

I turn my head. My lips are parted in awe as I look across the arena at the box. Both of the men are sitting staring straight ahead, their lips pressed together and their jaws clenched. I can see it from here.

“Why would they do that?” I ask once the crowd has settled down.

The announcer starts talking, and I can’t even understand what he’s saying. Everything sounds garbled, but then the audience yells, Who cares ? I look around, still not sure about what the hell is going on, but thankfully, Clara starts to explain things to me.

“That’s the penalty box. They got in trouble for fighting. They have to spend so many minutes in there before they can rejoin the game. Sometimes, if there’s a fight, it’s only one of them. Sometimes, it’s both. Any time they commit a penalty offense, it’s to the box. I’ve seen players completely ejected from the games, but not often.”

“I don’t like any of this,” I confess, my eyes sliding down to my lap.

She laughs softly. “You get used to it.” That’s her explanation. Then she continues. “Just like you get used to the mobs of women, puck bunnies they call them, standing outside ready and willing to do whatever.”

Wrinkling my nose at the thought of everything she’s said, I decide that I don’t want to get used to any of it. None of this sounds like anything I like. But as my gaze shifts from my lap to that clear box across from me, I realize that I’ll do all of it. Just one look at him, and I know that he’s worth all of the things I don’t like.

Ever. Single. One.

ELI

Thankfully, my time in the sin bin doesn’t last long. Once I’m out, I set my sights on the motherfucker who was the whole reason I went in there. Number fucking four. He’s playing dirty and rough. He didn’t like me checking his ass, and he’s really not going to like it when I stay on him, glued to him, because I’m about to make that bitch mine.

Once I’m back in the game, I keep on number five. I’m homed in on him. Nobody on the ice matters but him. He tries to check me again and then again. Enough is enough.

Slamming my shoulder into his chest, I hurl him backward against the glass, watching him widen his eyes in surprise.

“Fuck you,” I grind out.

He laughs. Then the gloves come off again. I might get kicked from this game, but right now, I don’t give a fuck. This asshole has been elbowing, pushing, checking, and tripping our players more than once, and his sights have been set on me. I don’t give a fuck why. I’m just going to end it here and now.

“You want a fight, you got it,” I bark.

“Oh, I want it, Abbott.”

My fist flies forward, slamming into the side of his jaw before I reach my arm around his neck, holding his head down, and start to punch him in the face from underneath. I don’t give a fuck anymore. Kick me the fuck out. I’m here for it. But this asshole isn’t going to get away with being a dirty fucker.

Whistles fly around me, referees start tugging at me to pull me off him, but I don’t stop. The first sign of blood should make me release him, but it doesn’t. I see nothing but red, and that red on the ice just spurs me to go harder and faster.

Until I hear my coach screaming, and then I am yanked backward and told to get off the ice.

Ejected.

Misconduct penalty.

I look over my shoulder and see Coach glaring at me, and I know I’m in for an earful later. I don’t care. That fucker is going to get someone seriously injured. I’m not sure why I feel responsible for being the one to take care of the situation, but here I am.

I skate my way into the locker room, then slam my shit down and walk over to the bench in front of my locker before I unlace my skates, tossing them into my cubby. Resting my elbows on my knees, I bury my face in my hands.

“Fuck,” I yell into my hands. “ Fuck. ”

Wrenly and Ryan just saw all of that.

Every second of it.

Fuck me.