22. Cole
COLE
“Are your nails… pink?”
My jaw clenches as I yank on my gloves. “Fuck off, Rhodes.”
Austin grins and falls into step beside me. “No, man, I love them.” His eyes are already bright with the exact kind of bullshit that makes me want to send him headfirst into the boards. “Who did them?”
I shoulder-check him on my way past and he lets out an oof and stumbles half a step, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to shut him up.
“Was it a dare?” he asks, skating backward so he can keep staring at me. “Did you lose a bet?”
I stop and shoot him a glare.
He lifts both hands, still grinning as he skates backward.
I glance down at my gloves and flex my fingers inside them.
I’m still not totally sure how the hell it happened. One minute we were sitting on her bed watching anime, and the next, she’d grabbed my hand, dropped it into her lap, and started painting each nail while her brows pulled together in concentration.
I don’t know why I let her. Why I didn’t just pull my hand back, or tell her to knock it off, or why I sat there blowing on my nails afterward as if this was a completely normal thing for me to be doing.
I just did.
When she finished, she leaned back and looked at her work, then tipped her face up toward mine. Whatever she saw there—probably some mix of confusion and annoyance—made her laugh.
Actually laugh.
I didn’t even know she could sound like that around me, and it was scary what that did to my stomach. Made it jump and twist—it was awful. I want it to happen again.
Logan claps me on the back. “Don’t worry, man. Real men wear pink.”
I cut him a glare as he skates past, then drop into my stretch to loosen up before the game. But I can’t focus, because I know she’s here.
I haven’t seen her yet, but I don’t need to. Some part of me always knows when Aurora’s around. Even back when I couldn’t stand being in the same room as her, my body sensed her before my eyes did.
I drag in a breath through my nose, trying to force my head back onto the game. But the second I look up, every muscle in my body tightens all over again, because even from behind, I know whose Westbrook jersey it is.
Chase Johnson straightens, rolls his neck, and glances up toward the stands, scanning the crowd.
I know exactly who he’s looking for.
“It’s just another game, man,” Ryan says, ripping my gaze away from Chase.
I grunt. Maybe for him.
Austin drops into his stretch and nudges my shin with the toe of his skate. “Please don’t get yourself thrown in the box before I get a chance to score.”
I crack my neck. “Can’t promise that.”
Because Chase has always had a talent for pissing me off, and I’ve always taken a lot of satisfaction in putting him on his ass for it.
The ref blows his whistle and we line up for the faceoff.
Austin wins and knocks the puck toward Logan. I knock one of the Westbrook forwards off his path, steering him away from the puck just as Logan passes to Ryan. He catches it and knocks it toward Austin, who sends the puck flying toward the net, but it hits the crossbar.
“Fuck,” he bites out, skating backward.
Chase laughs as he coasts past with one of his linemates. “This is gonna be easy,” I hear him mutter, knocking his helmet against the other guy’s.
My teeth grind until my jaw starts to ache. I want to plant my fist in his mouth. Want to wipe that smug look off his face. But I promised Aurora—for some dumb reason—that I wouldn’t go looking for a fight tonight, so I drag in a breath and force myself to keep moving.
But then he comes down my side on the next rush, and that’s different.
That, I can do something about.
As soon as he crosses our blue line, I step into him and drive a hip check straight through his body. He lifts off the ice for half a second before slamming into the glass.
A grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
God, I fucking love hockey.
He starts bitching to the ref, but we both know that hit was clean. I don’t need a cheap shot to lay him out. I might like a fight a little too much and spend most games one bad mood away from dropping my gloves, but I don’t play dirty.
Not like him.
He takes his sweet time getting up. Pushes himself off the ice, fixes his helmet, and rolls his neck. By the time the puck’s moved back up the other end, he’s drifted into my lane again, close enough that I can hear him over the crowd.
“No one hugging you at home, Ellis?” he says, his mouth twisting. “You seem real desperate for the contact.” He clips my shoulder on the way past, harder than he needs to.
I’ve been putting up with his shit since we were seventeen. Every chirp, every smug little look, every throwaway comment meant to remind me that he thinks he’s better than me just because his daddy’s got money and hands him whatever he wants.
I’ve heard it all before, and I didn’t give a fuck then and I don’t give a fuck now, because at the end of the day, we’re both still here. On the same ice. Playing the same game.
Their winger tries to carry the puck out of the zone, but I step up, knock it off his stick, and send it hard along the boards. Logan picks it up and swings wide.
I head that way too, cutting toward the crease just as Logan sends it flying toward Austin. He takes the shot, and the puck flies straight into the back of the net.
The horn blares, and Austin slams into me, knocking me off balance, yelling right in my ear as his helmet cracks against mine. A quick grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it, and then I glance up at the stands, already looking for her without even thinking about it.
I find her straight away, on her feet beside Maisie, clapping, smiling, and… fuck.
She’s wearing my jacket.
The whole place is loud, Austin still mouthing off beside me, the crowd on its feet, but all I can see is her with my jacket wrapped around her shoulders. I get why guys lose their minds over girls in their jerseys now. Though I’m pretty sure I’m always going to prefer her in my jacket.
It does something to me, seeing it on her. Seeing her in something that’s mine. Like she belongs to me.
She leans toward Maisie to say something, then looks back toward the ice, and the second her eyes find me, her smile widens.
Something really fucking weird happens in my chest. It fizzes, stutters, beats way too damn hard.
Has to be the adrenaline from the goal.
Has to be.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Chase says, the bitter laugh in his voice dragging my attention off her. His lip curls and he lets out a scoff. “Sniffing around my leftovers, Ellis?”
My teeth grind together. He’s just talking shit. That’s all this is. That’s what he does.
Let it go, Cole.
I force myself back into position and drag my focus to the faceoff circle, but I can still feel his eyes on me. When I glance over, he’s still staring, glaring at me.
Anyone finding out about me and Aurora would be bad enough. But her ex? That’s about as worst-case as it gets.
The ref blows the whistle and the puck hits the ice, but Chase doesn’t even look at it. He cuts straight across, eyes locked on me, and I barely have half a second to react before his elbow cracks into my jaw and snaps my head to the side.
Pain bursts hot across my face. My skates slide out and I slam into the boards.
“Two and a ten,” the ref yells, pointing at Chase.
But he doesn’t head for the box right away. He coasts past me first, the corner of his mouth curling. “How’s it feel?” he says. “Knowing I had her first?”
You promised her you wouldn’t hit him.
My tongue presses against the cut inside my cheek, and when I taste blood, I spit it onto the ice and turn away from him.
The puck drops. Austin wins it and throws it back to Logan, who cuts through their defense before sending it across the slot to Ryan, but one of Westbrook’s defensemen jumps the pass, and just like that, they’re coming back at us.
“Back, back!” Coach yells from the boards, and I skate backward, keeping my eyes on the puck.
I angle my stick and force their winger wide, steering him toward the boards until he’s got nothing left except a garbage-angle shot that Nathan swallows clean with his glove.
I head for the bench with my lungs burning and drop onto the seat to wait out the two minutes. When my next shift comes, I hop the boards and get back into position.
That’s when I look up and see Chase stepping out of the box, his eyes already locked on me.
“You’re wasting your goddamn time, Ellis,” he spits, coasting closer. “You really think she’d even entertain the idea of fucking you?”
This asshole has a death wish tonight.
He laughs and follows when I skate away. “She’ll come crawling back to me.”
My grip tightens around my stick. Here’s the thing.
I know I should keep my mouth shut. Every part of me is screaming to look straight ahead, say nothing, and let this asshole tire himself out.
But I’ve still got blood in my mouth from his cheap shot, my jaw is throbbing, and he just keeps talking about her.
So it comes out before I can stop it.
“Didn’t seem that way an hour ago when she was moaning my name.”
It’s complete bullshit, seeing as the closest I got to fucking her was squeezing her ass before she made me crawl out her window, but still… he doesn’t know that.
He comes to a dead stop on the ice and just stares at me. “The fuck did you just say?”
I turn my head and look at him through my helmet. “You heard me.”
He just stares at me, and I watch the smug look vanish from his face. Confusion hits first. Then disbelief, until understanding settles and his expression darkens, and he looks like he wants to kill me.
“Bullshit,” he mutters. “There’s no way she’d go anywhere near you.”
I let out a short laugh and look away.
It was a stupid thing to say. Reckless as hell, and I already know there’s a good chance it’s going to blow back on me later. But seeing that smug look finally wiped off his face almost makes it worth it.
Chase lines up beside me again and shoves at my chest. “She’ll get bored of you,” he spits. “You think you’re different?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “She’s just using you to get back at me.”
The refs hover around us, but I skate back and say nothing, even with my fists itching to punch him.
But Chase doesn’t want to let it go, and he crowds into me and bares his teeth. “Guess that slut will spread her legs for anyone who gives her attention for five fucking minutes.”
I don’t remember dropping my stick.
I don’t remember ripping off my gloves.
All I know is my fist slams into the cage hard enough that the impact shoots straight up my arm.
His head jerks sideways, his helmet flying off and skidding across the ice.
He stumbles, catches himself, and tries to swing back, but I’ve already got a fist twisted in the front of his jersey, pushing him backward.
I slam him into the glass and hit him again until blood trickles out of his mouth.
“Say it again,” I snarl, shoving my forearm across his chest and pinning him to the glass. “Call her a slut one more time.”
“Hit a nerve, did I?” He spits blood out. “Pathetic. You really think she wants you? You’re nothing but a revenge fuck. When she’s done using you, she’ll—”
I rear back and swing again, but I don’t get to hit him, because Ryan locks his arms around my chest, dragging me backward.
“Enough!” he barks in my ear. “That’s it, Ellis. You’re done.”
I don’t take my eyes off him as they haul us apart, rage humming through my veins.
“C’mon, man,” Ryan mutters once we’re on opposite sides, giving me a shove toward the boards. “What was that? You trying to kill him?”
I spit blood onto the ice. “He had it coming.”
The ref blows his whistle and points at me. “Sit down, forty-two. You’re out.”
I shove my stick at Ryan, haul myself over the boards, and drop onto the bench, grabbing a water bottle. I lean back and look up at the replay flashing across the jumbotron.
There I am on the screen, shoving him into the glass. The camera pulls wider and catches Aurora, on her feet with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide with worry.
Figures.
Even after everything, she’s still looking at him like that. Still worrying over golden boy. The same prick who cheated on her, lied to her, and would do it all over again without a second thought.
I’m the idiot out here bleeding over her, and somehow, he’s still the one she can’t stop looking at.
Just like last time.