“Oh, I don’t think Bailey would approve…” he retorted.
The minute he said her name, my blood pressure spiked so high I nearly stroked out. Everything went red.
Taking a penalty was inevitable.
My gaze snapped over to the bench, where Coach Miller was busy talking to the guys. Taking a few quick strides, I came to a stop in front of Morrison, staring him down with my jaw clenched like a bear trap.
It took every shred of self-restraint I had to keep my gloves on.
“Listen fuckface. I’ll put you on notice once and only once.” My voice was laced with menace and poison. “Feel free to shit talk me all day long, but leave Bailey out of it. Don’t talk about her, don’t talk to her. Stay the hell away from her, and you and I will be fine.”
Morrison glanced over my shoulder, probably to check if Paul was standing by in case he needed rescuing. But Paul would never be fast enough to save his sorry ass from me.
“Or what?” he said, trying and failing to sound tough.
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” I lowered my voice so the other players wouldn’t hear. “I’ll break your fucking legs, move on to your arms, and go from there. Your pathetic career will be over before it starts.”
Morrison’s expression went blank, and he blinked at me slowly. Too many big words to comprehend, I guess.
I skated closer. “Are we clear? Or should I start now?”
“Carter!” Coach Miller yelled. He threw both arms up in a WTF gesture.
“Watch your ass,” I bit out before turning away.
I skated back into position, and the linesman finally appeared and dropped the puck. Dallas won the playoff, sending the puck back to me. I caught it and skated up the side before passing it to Davis.
Or trying to pass it, anyway, because my aim was off, and the puck traveled way over to the left—inadvertently turning over to a forward on the Bulldogs instead. He flew straight down to our end on a breakaway, hammering out a slapshot that Ty barely managed to block.
A botched play that was fully my fault, all because I couldn’t complete a basic backhand pass.
Fuck me.
Morrison got in my head.
And now he knew I had a weakness.
OceanofPDF.com
BAILEY
I perched on the edge of my seat, my entire body tensed like a bowstring. Because attending a match between the Bulldogs and the Falcons wasn’t emotionally draining enough on its own, the game tonight had been incredibly tight—and physical. Like both sides were out for blood.
With less than two minutes left in the second period, both teams were practically dead on their feet, exhausted from beating the crap out of each other on the ice for the previous thirty-eight minutes of play. There had been more hits and infractions tonight than I’d seen in ages. Chase was obviously hitting anything that moved, but the other players were unusually aggressive too. Derek was on some kind of rampage, which was completely out of character for him. Even some of the tamer players were piling on. The Bulldogs were targeting Ward in particular, probably because he was their most skilled opponent. And they were going after Chase because, well, Chase.
The officials had started letting some of the less serious penalties slide, probably so they weren’t playing four-on-four for the entire twenty minutes each period.
After a turnover, Chase got a hold of the puck on their end and brought it up. Paul headed in his direction, accelerating with the obvious intent to initiate a massive hit. My breath caught and I braced myself, but Chase glanced over in the nick of time. He pivoted out of the way, and Paul slammed into the boards at top speed, making a loud crunch.
I burst out laughing. Good thing we weren’t near Amelia.
“Oof.” Siobhan cringed, biting her raspberry pink lip. “Tough break for that guy.”
“A well-deserved one,” I said.
“Falcons aren’t playing very well.” She shivered, zipping up her teal puffy coat. The frosty arena was even colder than usual, which only added to my mental and physical discomfort. “Not like normal, anyway.” She sighed, raking a hand through her long, inky waves.
“Yeah, neither team is.” The Bulldogs’ three goals had largely been luck. I shifted my weight, crossing and uncrossing my legs because I couldn’t sit still. “Too busy trying to kill penalties while killing each other.”
We watched as Chase zoomed around one of our defensemen and right up to Mendez. He wound up and took a screamer of a shot on the net. It was heartbreakingly close but bounced off the crossbar with a defeating clang. Luke took possession off the rebound and skated up the far side, heading for the Falcons zone.
Chase turned and barreled straight for Luke like a shark that had detected blood in the water. Technically, someone else should have been covering Luke, and technically, Chase was taking himself out of position. But this was about more than hockey, especially after they’d been sniping back and forth all game. This was a way for Chase to clobber Luke with some degree of plausible deniability.
And Chase really wanted to make that hit. I’d never seen him skate so fast.
A split second before Chase caught up, Luke glanced over and realized he was about to get demolished. Instead of reacting, he froze, and Chase plowed into him with his shoulder, leveling him with a devastating open-ice check.
It was one of those brutal hits you’d see on TV, replayed in a “top ten hits of all-time” clip compilation.
Almost in slow motion, Luke went flying and landed in a heap on his side.
Chase skated off without looking back.
The crowd erupted into a roar while the players on the Bulldogs’ bench, including Derek, protested loudly, calling for a penalty.
Siobhan turned to me, her blue-green eyes wide. “Is the guy Chase flattened your asshole ex?”
“Yup. Sure is.” I adjusted my gray scarf, tucking it beneath the collar of my coat. It was soft and warm, but I could have used at least two more layers of clothing. Or maybe long underwear, not that it would be the sexiest thing for Chase to find later.
“That didn’t look good.” Shiv sucked in a breath through her dazzlingly white teeth, grimacing.
“Nope,” I said. “Sure didn’t.”
The referee blew the whistle, halting the play. I watched as Luke lay sprawled out on the ice, dazed. As much as I hated him, I didn’t like to see players get injured. Needless to say, I had mixed feelings. Luke definitely deserved a solid check—just not to be, like, severely maimed.
Moderately maimed, maybe.
But I didn’t want Chase to get in trouble, either.
Cheers erupted from the Bulldogs fans as Luke slowly pulled himself up and skated over to the bench, his balance unsteady and with a pronounced limp. As he stepped off the ice, the Bulldogs’ trainers ran to his side and helped him into the dressing room. He would be out for the rest of the game due to the league’s concussion protocols. Maybe longer, depending on the injury his leg had sustained.
But would Chase take a penalty? Or worse? The hit itself was clean, technically speaking; he’d kept his elbow tucked, and there was no contact with Luke’s head. But there was no doubt he’d intended to run Luke down. It wasn’t even a little gray.
Shiv and I watched, waiting on pins and needles and frozen rear ends, as the officials conferred off to the side.
“Please don’t let it be a game misconduct,” I muttered, rubbing my frigid hands together, which was about as effective as rubbing two ice cubes together.
“I hope not,” said Shiv. “The Falcons need him in the game.”
The referee signaled, calling a two-minute minor against Chase for charging.
“Phew,” I said, the tension in my body easing. It was more than fair, considering he’d traveled a significant distance out of his way to make the hit.