Chapter 44 Faust
FORTY-FOUR
FAUST
We’re up three nothing in the third period, and with our fans going crazy and the thought of Neve Devine somewhere up there in the arena, alongside the words Sylvan said to me and his lips so close to mine, playing feels like a sixth sense. As easy as lifting my arm or closing my eyes.
Until I slap the puck toward Ryles just as TMU’s offense, Bronson, smashes me into the boards.
I hear the excitement in the stands and I think we’re going to score and I want to fucking see it, so I shove Bronson away from me, but he shoves back, and his voice is too close to me when he says her name.
“Is it Neve you want, or each other?”
The stadium erupts, the announcer says Connor’s name, and I know I should let it go because we’ve got a shutout no doubt, but all I can think about is Neve’s body on mine last night, and how she felt like someone I need to protect at all costs.
No doubt someone has seen something, and rumors fly with lesser evidence. Considering how often Sylvan and my names swirl in this world, I’m not surprised at his taunts, but it doesn’t make the urge to murder him lessen.
I drop my stick, grab Bronson’s jersey, and slam him into the boards.
Red fills my vision as I hit him, his helmet popping off. He grunts in surprise, like he thought I’d just let that shit go, and I hear the commotion in the stands but it’s all white noise to me shaking off my glove and smashing this fucker’s face.
“Who told you about her?” I hit him between each word and he releases his stick only to grab me with his gloved hands and if he thinks he’s going to shake me off him, he’s fucking delusional.
I’ve got a grip on his yellow jersey, and I smash him again, pummeling every inch of his pale face I can get as I hear players rushing toward us.
Someone tries to yank me off but when I spare one glance back, I see Sylvan pulling a TMU forward away, his eyes on mine, his expression serious. He gives me a subtle nod, and the refs are blowing their whistles and I see those fucking black and white uniforms almost on me, but I don’t stop.
“Who fucking told you?”
Bronson’s bleeding, and I know I’m going to get ejected from this game but fuck it. It’s too late to stop now, and even if I could, I don’t want to.
I hit him again as someone drags at my elbow. Ref or player, I don’t know, and I don’t care.
“It was Tasia, you motherfucker,” Bronson gasps, blood streaming down his nose, his eyes wide.
I don’t usually start fights, even from chirping.
But with Neve, all bets are off.
Tasia.
Connected to some drama with Sylvan.
My blood boils.
As two of TMU’s guys try to pull me off their man, I drop my fists, shrug out of their grip, and turn to Sylvan, still holding the forward back.
I charge for him among gasps from the crowd, the high-pitched whistle from the refs surrounding me, Coach Wynon about to have a stroke yelling on the bench.
Sylvan sees me coming and he shoves the player away. His helmet must’ve got knocked off in all the bullshit, and so it’s easy to get directly in his face, my temple to his.
“Now they know about her, and us,” I snarl so low no one can hear us, and this time, it takes longer to be surrounded. Guys fighting on the same team isn’t unheard of, but I’ve never done it.
All of my control slipped the moment I made her come all over my hand and she pressed her head to my chest, like I was someone to trust.
Fucking other guys? Yeah, it seems like she does that easy enough even if the thought makes me want to vomit.
Trusting them? I don’t think so.
And I don’t intend to ever break that.
“So you’re saying there is an us,” Connor says with a grin.
“Get your bitch under control,” I seethe.
His eyes narrow, confusion in his gaze as our team surrounds us, huddling around us to protect the two of us.
Sweat fills my nose alongside the metallic scent of the rink.
“Tasia,” I snarl, then I pull back so I don’t hit him too.
The guys give me room to breathe, then to skate away, charging toward the bench, my gloves and my stick still out there on the ice. I don’t bother with the penalty box. They won’t be that lenient.
Out of my peripheral, I see the ref pointing straight at the locker room.
Yeah, I’m already headed there, motherfucker.
Wynon isn’t screaming anymore but the look of disappointment he aims my way is heavy.
I’m glad Mom isn’t here for this one, although she’ll be watching from Sudbury and she and Rachel both will wonder what Bronson said to me to make my temper snap. No doubt she’s already sent a dozen texts about it.
By the time I’m sitting on the locker bench, skates off, sweat dripping from my hair, jersey on the floor, my breath coming in pants, I’ve already decided.
Sylvan Connor is coming with me tonight.
I don’t trust him with her, and I don’t trust her without me.