Preston

Lining my stick up with Kellan Lehane’s, I take away his shot, forcing a fight for the puck. He can either pass it, and hopefully fuck it up, or let me take it from him. I’m the best defenseman in Division I hockey. He knows it. This puck is mine.

I nudge him with my left elbow, pushing him into the boards, as he attempts to maintain possession. “I had her first,” he says, throwing me off my game. “Bex Bryant.”

I stagger back at the mention of her name, giving us some distance.

His eyes lock onto mine for a split second. “You heard me, Parker.”

I elbow him in the side. “Fuck off.”

I promised Bex I wouldn’t start a fight and that I would keep my cool around Lehane. And now she’s here, watching my every move. I can feel her eyes on me, hear her soft voice in my ear, telling me to back down. This dickhead makes it so hard not to lose control.

He’s goading me, taunting me to make the wrong move. Lehane deserves a beat down for what he did to my girl. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t do something about it, when the asshole is right in front of me? This is my chance. A penalty is worth it. Isn’t it?

Tucker appears at Lehane’s other side, helping where I am failing. Because I’m blowing it, my head totally fucked from what he said. I need all the assistance I can get. No one on my team knows about Lehane and Bex. They have no idea how much I want to beat the shit out of this stupid motherfucker.

I clench my jaw in anger, the pain from biting down on the mouth guard causing my jaw to pop. It does that sometimes. Ever since I fractured my cheekbone during a game in high school.

Tucker steals the puck from Lehane, skating away in a frosty blur. But Lehane is not going anywhere. As he attempts to go after the puck, I push him into the boards, slamming him face first with my glove on the back of his head. I don’t care about the penalty.

Fuck, this feels good.

The referee calls a penalty on me—five minutes for boarding. And the linesmen pull us apart, one of them tugging on my jersey until I willingly skate over to the penalty box. Jamie looks at me and shrugs, as if to ask why I would do something so stupid. I wish I could share this with him. For so long, I’ve wanted to tell someone, in hopes I could find a solution for Bex.

Now, Boston is on the power play, giving them a slight advantage over us for the next five minutes. I fucked my team, but I don’t regret it. We’ll make up the minutes. Our team has an eighty percent penalty kill percentage… but that’s usually with Jamie and me on the ice together.

I strip off my gloves and sit on the bench in the box, my anger radiating through me. I never allow anyone to fuck with my head during games. I’m always the calm, centered player on our team. Because I have to be. That’s why I am the team captain. But now I need someone to put my ass in check.

Coach Bryant glances over at me, his jaw set. He shoots me a warning look that says, Knock it the fuck off before I bench your ass. This game means a lot to him, to all of us. We need this win. The Frozen Four is so close, our team right there on the finish line. I have to keep it together.

Not until the third period am I on the ice again with Lehane. Tucker looks to me, having just enough room to slap the puck to me. Tied 3-3 with Boston, we need this goal. I can’t go home with my head hung low and a point in the loss column.

Lehane is on me this time, right on my ass, sweeping his stick in an attempt to take the puck from me. He’s a dirty player. I’ve seen him do sneaky shit dozens of times without the refs catching him. I switch the puck to my weak side, and Lehane swings his stick at my leg, the move clearly intentional.

I’m waiting for the referee to take his head out of his ass and call a penalty for slashing. The bastard gets away with it, like he does everything else, which only fuels my rage.

I pass the puck to Tucker, with just enough clearance to sail past Lehane’s skate. Tuck takes the shot, and with seconds left on the clock, the horn sounds, blaring through the event center.

I raise my arms in the air to celebrate our win, about to join my teammates, when someone punches me in the back with their glove. Spinning around, I shove Lehane. Stumbling backward, he smirks. He removes his gloves, dropping them to the ice. I do the same, because I’m not backing down from him.

As we square off, he points to the stands—where Bex is sitting next to Taylor. “I still remember her perfect pink nipples. Her tight pussy. She’s a good fuck, isn’t she?” I want to rip the stupid grin from his lips. “Your girl can suck a cock like a whore on—”

Before he can finish his sentence, I land a punch to his jaw. I keep swinging, backing him up against the glass, as I dodge his fist. He gets a good hit on me, on the right side of my nose that sends a shooting pain through my face. Our teammates surround us. The linesmen try to pull us apart.

Even though we won the game, I can’t let him win. He can’t disrespect my girl and then walk away. My fist connects with his nose, then his jaw, each punch more powerful than the last. The final shot forces his eyes shut, and he stops swinging at me.

His blood covers my skin, coloring my knuckles. I can’t feel my hand anymore. Is it broken? The fight ends with Lehane sinking to the ice and me accidentally elbowing a linesman in the face. Reality sinks in.

What did I do?

Lehane might have cost me everything. My position on this team. My future in the NHL. No one is going to sign a player with a bad track record and fucked-up hand.

Dr. Clarke, the team doctor, slides the curtain over and steps into the bay where I’ve been waiting in the emergency room. He’s treated my injuries before, but this time, he wanted x-rays to confirm his suspicions.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” He sits in the chair next to my bed.

“Bad news, I guess.”

He nods. “I spoke to the attending physician. Your x-rays confirm you have three broken knuckles and a slight fracture. While this isn’t a life-changing injury, it will impact your ability to play hockey for at least the next month.”

“What about the Frozen Four?”

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t look good for you.”

I can’t decide whether I want to scream, cry, or punch something. “What’s the best-case scenario?”

“Maybe three weeks, if you’re lucky. But I don’t want to push it.”

Staring down at my splinted fingers, I can’t believe how much my hand has swollen in the last hour. This isn’t the end of the world. But it sure feels like it right now.

“Does Coach know?”

“Yes.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I stopped by the waiting room. The entire team is out there.”

“Is Bex here?”

“Yeah. She knows, too.”

“Can I leave?”

“Not yet. They need to take care of your hand first.”

“Can I see Bex?”

He pushes himself up from the chair. “Let me see if they’ll allow her to come back and sit with you for a while.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

He disappears into the busy room, leaving the curtain open a crack. I lean back, my eyes pointed up at the ceiling, and pray for a miracle. What if the bones shift during the healing process? What if I can never play hockey again? I try to block out the pain. It’s something fierce, the intensity growing with each second that passes.

I refuse to take any pain medication. My dad had addiction problems early on in his career. He loved the bottle, clung to it like it was his last hope. I won’t get in the habit of using something as a crutch. Aspirin will have to be enough.

A few minutes later, Bex steps between the hole in the curtains, with a sad look on her beautiful face.

“Hey,” she whispers, approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?” She slips her fingers between those of my good hand. Her warmth leeches into my skin.

“Okay,” I lie.

“You look better than the other guy,” she jokes. “Kellan’s nose is broken, shattered in two different places. You broke his jaw, too. They have to wire it shut.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because he’s here. He needs surgery.”

“Good. I hope that fucker remembers me every time he drinks his meals from a straw.”

Bex climbs into bed with me, and I make room for her. “There’s more.” Her voice is shaky, her body trembling. “Right before Dr. Clarke came out to find me, Kellan’s teammates started a fight with yours. They were all out in the waiting room shit talking back and forth when the doctor told Kellan’s coach about his injuries. The nurse had to call security to break up the fight. I think a few people are hurt. I’m not sure who, though. I snuck through the door with Dr. Clarke to get out of the way.”

“Fuck. This is a real shit show, huh?” I shake my head, blowing out a frustrated breath of air. “I didn’t just fuck up my career, I messed shit up for the whole team. Some captain I am.” I hang my head in shame, now regretting my decision.

It’s one thing for me to suffer in silence. But it’s another for the team to get roped into my mess.

Bex runs her fingers down my arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. She stares into my eyes. Hers are watery, with so much sadness in them. “You can’t take the blame for other people’s actions, Preston. You didn’t make them do a thing.”

“Our teams wouldn’t be out in the waiting room, beating the shit out of each other, if it weren’t for me. This could have serious implications for the team.”

“I saw the whole thing. From where I was sitting, it looked like Kellan was egging you on, so you would hit him back.”

“He was,” I growl. “The shit he was saying about you made my blood boil. I couldn’t stand hearing him talk about you like that. Like you were trash. Like you were his. It made me sick.”

“You didn’t start the fight, though. He did. Anyone could see he punched you in the back after you guys scored. The game was over. He was always a sore loser.”

“I hope the league sees it that way.”

“Me, too. My dad is afraid they will suspend you for the remainder of the year.”

“It’s possible.”

“But he started it. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Not necessarily. He’s having surgery because of me. The NCAA will take his injuries into consideration.”

“My dad said Kellan will probably get the same penalty as you. He’s not sure. He has to make a few calls.”

“Speaking of calls, would you mind talking to my dad for me. Let him know I’m here. I can’t bear to have a conversation with him right now. He’s going to be so pissed.”

“My dad already talked to him.”

“What did he say?”

“He wasn’t happy.”

“What am I gonna do, Bex?” I rest my head on her shoulder, taking in her sweet feminine scent. “I am so fucked.”

“No, you’re not. We will get through this together.”

“Easy for you to say,” I growl, and something snaps inside me. “Tonight’s game might’ve been the last I ever play.”

“Don’t overreact.” She raises her voice to match my dark tone.

“How do you expect me to act? I feel like someone is holding me underwater, like I’m drowning and have no way of swimming back to the surface.”

“I’m here, Preston. Whatever you need.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. If you weren’t at the game, Lehane wouldn’t have seen us together. I wouldn’t have gotten into the fight. None of this shit would have happened.” I close my eyes, disgusted with myself for being a dick. “Can you just go?”

She looks like she might cry. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “I need to be alone. I have to think things through.”

Her cheeks flush. “Please don’t hate me for this. I love you.”

I don’t know why, but I can’t say it back. Everything hurts. My hand. My heart. I want it all to stop. I wish I could take it all back.

As I roll onto my side, Bex hops down from the bed. She leaves without another word, and I close my eyes, wishing I would have taken the pain meds the doctor offered. Because I want to be numb.