30. Wyatt
Wyatt
Practice ended with the usual chaos.
Sticks clattered against metal lockers. Music blasted from someone's Bluetooth speaker—too loud, too bass-heavy, exactly what every muscle in my body needed after two hours of brutal drills.
I yanked my helmet off and dropped onto the bench, already feeling the ache settling into my shoulders.
"So, Garrison." Ryker leaned back against his stall, arms crossed, grin sharp enough to draw blood. "Heard the whole Harrington empire is imploding."
The locker room didn't exactly go quiet—but the energy shifted. Eyes flicked toward me. A few guys stopped mid-conversation.
Jared whistled low from across the room, Southern drawl thick with amusement. "Man dates the boss's daughter and suddenly the CEO's fired." He shook his head slowly. "That's power."
I stripped off my jersey and tossed it into my bag without looking up. "Harrington resigned. Not fired."
"Semantics," Ryker shot back.
Nikolai appeared beside me like a goddamn ghost, towering and silent as always. He leaned one massive shoulder against the stall, arms folded across his chest.
"Russian proverb," he said calmly, accent rolling thick over the words. "Never anger man who steals daughter."
The locker room erupted. Laughter echoed off the tile walls. Someone threw a towel. Jared nearly fell off the bench.
I grabbed my water bottle and took a long drink, letting them get it out of their systems.
Ryker wiped tears from his eyes. "You're a legend, old man. Absolutely unhinged."
I set the bottle down and met his gaze dead-on. "Relax." My voice stayed flat, deliberately casual. "I just like women half my age."
The room exploded again.
"YOU'RE A MENACE!" Ryker shouted, pointing an accusing finger at me.
Jared doubled over laughing. Even Nikolai cracked the faintest smile—rare enough that it felt like winning something.
I smirked, zipped my bag shut, and stood. Let them think whatever they wanted. Let them joke and chirp and make their stupid bets about how long I'd last before I screwed it all up.
They didn't know the truth. That walking out of Harrington's office with Chastity's hand in mine felt like the first clean breath I'd taken in years.
That watching her stand up to her father—calm, certain, unflinching—made something in my chest tighten and expand all at once.
That I'd burn the whole damn league down before I let anyone take her from me.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the exit.
Ryker called after me. "Where you going?"
I didn't slow down. "Home."
Because that was what it was now.
Not my house.
Home.
Wherever she was.
I slid into my truck and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and the radio kicked on automatically—some local sports station I never bothered changing.
Then the voice shifted. Not the usual play-by-play. News.
"…breaking corporate news tonight—Barbara Hale has been removed from the merger negotiations following reports of an undisclosed affair with CEO Thomas Harrington…"
My hand froze on the gearshift.
The reporter's voice continued, crisp and detached.
"…sources say the scandal has destabilized the deal entirely. Investors are demanding transparency. Both Harrington and Hale have declined to comment at this time…"
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
Justice.
Finally.
Not the way I'd planned it—messier, louder, more public than I ever intended. But it didn't matter. The truth was out. The man who destroyed my life was finally facing consequences. Barbara too.
I should've felt triumphant.
Instead, I just felt… tired.
And ready to go home.
I grabbed my phone off the passenger seat and typed quickly.
Be home soon. Picking up takeout.
The reply came almost immediately.
Okay
That little red heart.
My chest tightened, like something inside me that had been clenched tight for years finally loosened.
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, then set the phone down and shifted into drive.
The parking lot lights blurred past as I pulled onto the main road. The city sprawled ahead, neon signs and streetlights cutting through the early winter dark.
Somewhere behind me, the Harrington empire was collapsing. Investors scrambling. Lawyers circling. Media sharks smelling blood in the water.
And I didn't care.
Not anymore.
Because waiting for me at home was a girl who chose me over her father. Who walked out of that office with her head high and her hand in mine. Who kissed me like I was worth something, even when I didn't believe it myself.
I turned onto the highway and pressed down on the gas.
Justice was fine.
But getting back to her?
That was everything.
I didn't go to the restaurant.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary as I drove across town, away from the familiar route home. Away from takeout and normalcy and pretending I was calm.
I wasn't calm.
Not even close.
The address had been easy to find. Too easy.
A quick search through Chastity's old social media tags, a couple cross-references, and there it was—Connor's apartment building in a part of town that looked like it had given up trying years ago.
Cracked sidewalks. Peeling paint. A streetlight flickering like it couldn't decide whether to stay on.
I parked outside and killed the engine. Sat there for a second.
My pulse thudded steady in my ears. My knuckles already tight, already ready.
He'd grabbed her wrist at that merger party. Put his hands on her. Made her uncomfortable enough that she slapped him in front of a room full of investors.
And I hadn't been there.
That was the part that kept looping through my head. I hadn't been there to stop it. Hadn't been there to make sure he understood exactly what would happen if he ever touched her again.
I got out of the truck.
The apartment building stairs creaked under my weight. Second floor. Third door on the left. Music thumped faintly from somewhere down the hall—bass-heavy and muffled.
I knocked once.
Footsteps shuffled inside. The door swung open.
A guy in his twenties stood there, holding a beer, half-focused on whatever game was playing on the TV behind him. Polo shirt. Expensive watch. Smug face I wanted to break the second I saw it.
He blinked at me.
"Connor?" I asked, though I already knew.
He nodded slowly, recognition dawning. "Yeah… hey, you're that hockey—"
I punched him.
Hard.
Right across the jaw.
His head snapped back, beer bottle clattering to the floor.
I hit him again before he could recover.
Then a third time.
He crashed backward into the apartment wall, sliding down with a grunt of pain and shock. His hand went to his face, blood already dripping from his nose.
I grabbed his collar and hauled him halfway upright, slamming him back against the wall.
My voice came out low. Controlled. Deadly.
"You ever get in the same space as Chastity again…" I leaned in close enough that he could see exactly what I meant. "I'll fucking kill you."
His eyes went wide—real fear, not just surprise. He tried to nod, but my grip on his collar made it jerky and pathetic.
I released him.
He slid to the floor, stunned, gasping, one hand still pressed against his bleeding nose.
I straightened, adjusted my jacket, and walked out without another word.
The door swung shut behind me.
My knuckles throbbed as I took the stairs two at a time, adrenaline still buzzing hot under my skin. The cold air hit me when I stepped outside, sharp and grounding.
I climbed back into the truck and sat there for a moment, breathing hard.
I shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving Connor and his bleeding nose and his expensive watch behind.
Because some things weren't about revenge.
They were about making sure the people I loved stayed safe.
And if that meant crossing town to deliver a message with my fists?
So be it.
Fifteen minutes later I stood in Golden Dragon like nothing had happened.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Steam curled up from behind the counter where an older woman stirred something that smelled like ginger and garlic. A small TV in the corner played muted news—probably still covering the Harrington implosion.
I didn't look at it.
The woman glanced up, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled politely.
"Pickup?"
"Garrison."
She nodded and disappeared into the back. I stood there, hands in my pockets, knuckles still aching faintly from where they'd connected with Connor's jaw. No blood. Nothing visible. Just a dull throb that felt oddly satisfying.
The woman returned with two bags stapled shut, steam rising from the top.
"Sweet and sour chicken, lo mein, spring rolls." She set them on the counter. "Extra fortune cookies."
I handed her cash and took the bags. "Thanks."
She nodded again, already turning back to the stove.
I pushed through the door into the cold and crossed the parking lot. The truck beeped when I unlocked it. I set the food carefully on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.
The engine turned over smoothly. The radio kicked back on—still running the Harrington story—and I switched it off completely.
Silence settled around me as I pulled onto the main road.
My hands steadied on the wheel. My pulse slowed. The adrenaline finally started to drain, replaced by something calmer. Something certain.
I wasn't the man I used to be.
That guy would've kept swinging until Connor couldn't stand. Would've destroyed the apartment. Would've let the rage consume everything.
But tonight?
Tonight I hit him exactly as much as necessary. Delivered the message. Then walked away.
Because I had something worth going home to.
I turned onto our street and exhaled slowly.
Home.
The house was quiet when I walked in.
I kicked the door shut with my foot, balancing the takeout bags in one hand.
"Chastity?"
No answer.
I set the food on the kitchen counter and turned—
And stopped.
She stood in the hallway.
Wearing red and black lingerie.
My team colors.