8. Hayden
HAYDEN
I ’m slamming the puck against the net, feeling the ice bite at my blades as I rip across the rink. The satisfaction of watching the puck hit its mark is fleeting, drowned out by the burn in my chest. The only thing I can think about is Madison. It doesn’t matter what I do on the ice. It doesn’t matter that I’m in the middle of practice with my teammates screaming and shooting pucks around me.
Every time I look up, she’s there. Or not there, I should say. She’s avoiding me, like I’m some kind of disease. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s just slipping through my fingers, like sand in an hourglass and I don’t have time to flip it over. The fact that I didn’t slip her towel off and toss her on the bed the other night is a miracle. It was, and will probably forever be, the single hardest and most annoying thing I’ve had to do. It was the right thing. I could see it on her face, she wanted me almost as much as I needed to be inside her. I was too keyed up, too reckless. I would have hurt her. I wouldn’t have been able to pace myself, to make sure that she enjoyed it as much as I know I’m going to.
“Focus, Lockwood!” Coach shouts from the bench. I don’t know what his fucking problem is. He’s been on his laptop and phone the entire practice. I don’t even bother responding to the old bastard. I shoot the puck again, harder this time, making it whistle past Tristan. He’s standing in front of the net, but he’s fucking with his ear buds instead of trying to stop the pucks. He’s probably the only person who won’t give me shit for being so consumed by Madison. I know what he listens to all the time, and he’d probably slit my throat if I ever said it out loud.
He lives in the same house as Callum and me, and one night when he was having a particularly bad night terror, we had to kick his door in to see what the fuck was going on. He’d ripped his room to shreds, and after the chaos had subsided, I picked one up off the floor. I listened to see if they were on, and to my surprise there was no music. There was only rhythmic breathing, like the person was asleep. It only became clear when I heard Winter’s sleepy voice mumble Tristan’s name. The motherfucker recorded her while she was sleeping so he could listen to it when he went to bed.
I’m not hating on him for it, just annoyed I didn’t think of it first. Something like that would probably get me through the sleepless nights I’m plagued with since meeting Madison. Tristan can’t have Winter for more complicated reasons than what I’m dealing with. Madison sleeping in my bed every night is end game, I just need her to want it.
Callum skates over to me, knocking my stick out of my hand and cackling like he’s a fucking toddler. His smirk says it all before he even opens his mouth. “Judging by your stellar mood today, I’m guessing things aren’t going well with blondie?”
I grunt, picking up my stick and swiping his feet out from under him. I wait for his ass to hit the ice before I say, “They’re going just according to plan, you nosy asshole.”
Callum lets out a low laugh, pushing up off the ice. A puck comes sailing toward us and he effortlessly intercepts it and quickly shoots it to the far side of the rink. “You know what you should do, right?”
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension. “What?”
“Kidnap her,” Callum says with a grin, his voice dripping with that cocky edge. “Move her in our house like Big T did with Winter. That way, she won’t have a choice but to fall in love with you.” I snicker because Tristan fucking hates when Callum calls him that. Callum’s justification? Tristan is exactly one inch taller than me, and two inches taller than Callum.
I laugh, but it comes out bitter. “Yeah, Callum. That’ll definitely work. Maybe I should also force her to marry me.” I’m being sarcastic, but it seems to ghost right over his head. Callum is probably one of the smartest people I know, but he doesn’t pay attention to anything he doesn’t want to.
He laughs with me, but there's a glint in his eyes. "You never know, might just be the move."
I shake my head at him and we both keep skating, focusing back on the practice, but the conversation hangs in the air like a bad idea. I can’t get the thought out of my head. Could I just take her? Make her stay with me, make her see what I’ve known since the moment I laid eyes on her?
“What’s that about?” Callum asks as we pass a few of the other players and he nods over to Coach. I realize that Tristan has left the ice and it looks like he’s getting a vigorous ass chewing.
I snicker, watching as Tristan stands there with his head tipped back, and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s being inconvenienced. Coach is red in the face, and by the looks of his jerky hand movements, he’s really upset. “I don’t know. I wonder if Coach got an email about Tristan beating the fuck out of those football players that broke Winter’s phone?”
Callum’s head jerks to the side, his eyebrows lifting. “Oh, shit. I heard about that, but I didn’t know it was him. I heard your sister at breakfast gossiping in the line to get food. She said two players got absolutely rocked.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “That tracks. I didn’t see what happened, but I picked him up that night.”
Callum smirks at me. “If I get as bad as you two with some chick, just drag me outside and shoot pucks at my head.”
I chuckle darkly, my stick raised to take another shot. “With pleasure.” I grin and launch another puck into the net with ease.
We keep skating, the sound of the pucks cracking against the boards like thunder. Before I can take another shot, the coach blows his damn whistle. “Get off my ice, and hit the showers. You better have your shit together for the game this weekend, Lockwood. Your little sidekick, too.”
Callum flips Coach both of his middle fingers without turning around to look at him as we both head for the locker room. The clang of skates against metal echoes in the hallway as I head inside. I peel off my gear and toss it into my locker. I don’t waste any time showering, and the water feels hot against my skin, but it doesn’t help ease any of the tension that has me knotted up. I stroked my cock thinking of Madison multiple times last night, wrapping that light pink, silky ribbon I swiped from her, mimicking her silky skin. No matter how many times I come, it’s not enough. It won’t be until I’m filling her, watching it drip down her thighs. I shake away the thought and quickly step out of the shower and towel off, wrapping the fluffy fabric around my hips. The last thing I need is to be caught with a fucking hard-on in the locker room.
When I head over to my locker, I see Scott Jacobs standing there in a towel, smirking like he owns the whole damn campus. His eyes flicker over to me as I reach for my clothes. He’s always got that look on his face, like a shih tzu ready to yap at a doberman.
“Word around campus is that your new sister doesn’t want anything to do with you,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Such a shame, she’s a nice piece of?—”
Before he can finish, I move fast, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head against one of the benches in the middle of the rows of lockers. The sound of his skull hitting dense wood is satisfying, and I feel the blood rush to my hands. His eyes widen, shock filling his expression as I keep his head pinned down. I can hear the fuckers on my team talking, gathering around to watch what’s happening, but I don’t give a fuck. Take a fucking picture so the next idiot who thinks talking about Madison is a good idea can have a warning.
“Shut up,” I growl, rage filling my voice in a way I can’t quite suppress.
Scott cries out, his breath hitching, his hands scrambling for purchase on anything that will give him the slightest bit of leverage. I’m not letting him finish that sentence. He’s not going to talk about Madison like that.
His fingers dig into my wrist, trying to pull my hand away. “Let me go,” he gasps, his voice strained. “My mother will have your ass expelled for this.”
His threat falls flat, barely registering as I keep my grip firm on his head. I slam it down again, just enough to remind him of who’s in control, but not hard enough to cause any lasting damage. “Shut your fucking mouth,” I snap. “Say one more word, and I’ll make you regret it. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about her. She’s mine.”
He starts to whimper, his eyes darting around the room, looking for anyone who might help him. But there’s no one who wants a piece of me. It’s just me and him, and he’ll never win that fight.
I let go of him, watching him crumble to the floor, gasping for air. I don’t even look at him as I grab my gray sweatpants and navy hoodie from my locker, pulling them on. His pathetic attempt to threaten me doesn’t even faze me. He’s weak. He’s nothing.
When I go to close my locker, something catches my eye.
A necklace.
My breath hitches. I recognize it immediately. The gold chain. There’s a dried brown stain on it. It’s the one my mother always wore. The one she had on the night she was murdered. I know it wasn’t recovered, because my father had a fucking fit about it.
I look around the room, trying to discern who could have done this while I was on the ice. I shove it into my pocket, and my mind is racing with every possibility. Whoever killed my mother, and Madison’s father, is still out there. And now they’re toying with me. They want me to know they’re still here.
It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t a random act of violence like the dean is telling all the concerned parents. If it really was someone Madison’s father owed money to, they’re after me, maybe Madison too, now.