The morning skate was not one of Brandon’s best. He saved the majority of shots but not with the natural ease he was used to making saves with.

He couldn’t get Seraphina out of his mind. He couldn’t get the feel of her body from his hands, the taste of her out of his mouth, her scent out of his nose. He hated how stubborn she was being. He knew she had feelings for him, that she wanted to be with him just as badly as he wanted to be with her. And yes, he could understand her hesitation because whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was a conflict of interest.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

And maybe he hadn’t had to storm off and leave her in the morning without eating breakfast with her. And God, he wanted to kiss her just one more time, especially if they weren’t going to be together. The look in her eyes broke his heart because he absolutely knew she loved him. He didn’t doubt that for one second. It was actually adorable how awkward she got when she was around him.

That was what frustrated him more than anything.

Why sacrifice what they could be together?

But he knew. And he hated that it actually made sense. If she wasn’t ready for a relationship or she didn’t want to settle down, he could be annoyed, but she hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. Until their night last night, of course.

He wouldn’t let himself think about that, though. Her silky skin, the way her sky blue eyes turned dark when she took him in the first time, her perfect mouth. Everything about her got him hard and to know he would never touch her again was not something he wanted to even entertain at the moment.

He waited until he reached his hotel room before showering. A couple of the single guys were going to a pool party but he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he ordered a large thing of pasta just after eleven and ate the two thousand-plus calories the meal provided him. Then, he took a long nap before getting dressed and heading to the lobby to meet up with the team. The bus picked them up exactly at four thirty and delivered them to the nearby stadium just after four forty-five. From there, they assembled in the visitor’s locker room where they warmed up by jogging around and playing hacky sack.

When it was six forty-five, they were dressed in their gear and ready for warmups. Brandon focused only on the sport. He had given himself time throughout the day to be frustrated by Seraphina’s choice. Now, he had to be on point and couldn’t afford any distractions.

The first period went by uneventfully. Brandon was on top of his game, his eyes sharp, his focus on point. His entire body was tense the whole period, except when there were scheduled commercial breaks. During those two minutes, Brandon liked to grab the water bottle sitting on top of his net, squirt the water in his mouth – since both goalies shared water bottles – and skate over to the bench. Not necessarily because Cherney called him over to talk or to talk with his goalie coach, but because it got him moving, relaxing his muscles and stretching them out. He always took care to look around for the ice girls who swept up the ice.

These girls were all beautiful but their makeup was overdone and their hair looked stilted and crunchy. They were wearing silver, sparkly mini dresses, which must have been cold for them but the smiles on their faces didn’t reveal that they were cold if they were.

Brandon knew Seraphina, her sister, and a couple of the team’s girls were sitting at glass seats rather than the suite Phil Bambridge had paid for. He didn’t look at them outright, especially not Seraphina who looked beautiful in a simple red blazer, a white dress, and dark black flats, but he did notice them.

When he skated back to his net, the puck drop was to his left. This was his weak side – if he had a weak side – because while he caught left, he controlled his goalie stick with his right hand and he preferred to be angled in the right direction rather than the left.

The Blackjacks won the faceoff and immediately a skater positioned himself close to Thorpe in front of his crease. He wore 89 with the name Stevens on the back of his sweater.

Thorpe pushed Stevens out of his crease using his goalie stick at a horizontal angle. Technically, Brandon could have gotten called for crosschecking but unless it was an obvious hit, the referees usually let goalies get away with it.

“Heard about what happened last night,” Stevens said, keeping his eye on the puck. Regardless, Thorpe knew his words were directed to him. “Your girl boss really gets around, doesn’t she? First with you, then with my boss.”

Brandon clenched his jaw but ignored him. He knew Stevens was trying to throw him off, trying to get into Brandon’s head. It wouldn’t work, even if they were insulting Seraphina.

“Maybe I can get on that, huh?” Stevens continued. “She’s easy, right. You had her, Phil had her… She’s drop dead gorgeous. What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around me while I fucked her cunt with –“

And that was when Brandon couldn’t control himself any longer. He dropped his gloves, threw off his mask, and went after Stevens with all he had. No one was allowed to talk about Seraphina that way. He didn’t give a shit who it was or when it was, he wouldn’t allow that to stand.

Brandon managed to get two good punches in right on Stevens's jaw. His hand hurt but it wasn't the kind of pain that exploded through his hand, cracked his bones and caused his blood to heat up. Or maybe it was and he just wasn't focused enough to notice. The noise was muted. He didn't see the crowd jump to their feet, clamoring to see a star goalie get in a fight with a third line nobody from a new team. Brandon was aware there was a chance he could injure his hand, which meant he'd be out for the rest of the season and, if they continued to play well and get points, playoffs. He had yet to make playoffs in his professional career and it was one of his goals he intended to achieve at some point. But now, he was willing to throw that away just to get the satisfaction of punching this asshole for running his mouth about the woman he loved, the woman who refused to be with him because of some messed up values that thought being with him would ruin both of them.

But the sound of his fist hitting Stevens's jaw, that loud pop, drowned out the rest of the noise. It was satisfying and the look on Stevens's face just added to the moment. He kept going as long as he could. Stevens, unfortunately, managed to get a couple of hits in. His face hurt but Brandon couldn't feel it. He had no idea how that made any sense but it was as though his mind registered the hit and he expected it to hurt, his adrenaline was coursing through his body quickly, he didn't even feel it. He would be bruised, definitely, but it didn't matter. His pain didn't matter just as long as he could inflict some of his own. Finally get this guy to shut the fuck up about Seraphina.

"You piece of shit," Stevens said, blood dripping out of his mouth like goddamn rubies. "You fucking like her, don't you? You stupid piece of shit. You really think she's going to be with you? That fucking slut will sleep with anyone to get her way. You know that right?"

Brandon kept his mouth shut. However, his fingers tightened and he managed to hit Stevens twice more before the refs forced him off of the skater. Even pulling him apart, Brandon tried to reach for him, tried to get at least one more punch in, but a linesman skated over and helped the referee keep them separated.

Stevens was laughing which only enraged Brandon even further but he let them push him off the ice and onto his bench. He didn't look at his team or the coaches as he made his way into the locker room. The only person who followed him was the trainer, probably to ensure he'd be able to play the next game. It didn't feel like he had broken his hand. Then again, he didn't feel much of anything.

When he made it to the locker room, he sat down on the bench in front of his locker and slowly pulled off his helmet. This wasn't like him. He didn't lose control. Even when he played triple A hockey back when he was a teenager and they talked about his sister and the father that left him when he was five. He stayed focused and won the championship. He didn't even flinch. And they said a lot of terrible things about his sister, pretty much in the same vein that they had about Seraphina.

And this was his sister.

Why had he allowed Stevens to get to him in the first place was beyond his comprehension. It might have to do with the fact that he was already an emotional wreck after what happened between him and Seraphina. He had finally confessed his feelings and she had told him she felt the same way. She said the words he had wanted to hear. They had been together. He got to feel what it was like to be inside of her and it surpassed everything he had imagined it would be. And then she took that all away this morning when she told him she couldn't - wouldn't - be with him.

He felt a variety of conflicting emotions pass through his body - anger, frustration, sorrow, loss. It was like everything he had hoped for was suddenly ripped from his hands, not for a good reason but because she was scared. Because that was the truth of the whole thing - Seraphina was scared. And instead of taking the risk and just testing the waters out with him, she had dismissed the idea. She wouldn't even let him talk about it, wouldn't even let him give his side.

"Looks like you didn't sprain or break anything," the trainer said. Brandon hadn't even realized he had been sitting next to him, looking at his hand. Was he so focused on his thoughts or was his hand so numb? "You'll be able to play not next game but the one after that."

Brandon nodded. "Did I get a misconduct?" he asked.

"Game misconduct," the trainer replied with a grin. "You beat the shit out of him."

Brandon smirked but didn't say anything in return. His intention wasn't to beat the shit out of him. It was to shut him up. It was to make him realize he couldn't talk about Seraphina that way, at least not to him.

"What happened?"

Brandon felt his guard go up. He didn't particularly like talking to people, not because he was a snob but because he didn't like to talk. Typically, he might have just shrugged and made a noncommittal sound but he wanted to try and be better.

"The guy was running his mouth and wouldn't shut up," Brandon told him.

The trainer chuckled. "He got what was coming to him then," he said.

Brandon nodded his head. He didn't say anything as the trainer walked back to the bench but his lips curled into a smirk.