Endgame

Chapter 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

MATT

I fucked up.

I’ve been standing outside Ellie’s door for seven minutes trying to figure out how to play this. I don’t want to lie to her, obviously. But I know she’s going to ask questions when she sees my face.

And notices I’m here an hour earlier than normal.

Sloane warned me not to get baited into anything or stir up any drama.

She said it was unlikely anyone would try something, given the serious nature of the situation.

But she also knew I was too close to it all to keep a level head.

And she was fucking right. God dammit. I really hope this doesn’t cause more issues for Ellie.

I’m honestly still so worked up I’m not even sure I should be here. Maybe I should go to my house…

The door swings open and my heart stutters in my chest in that now familiar way at the sight of Ellie in her big sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, smiling at me.

She’s just…adorable and cozy and mine. Some of the tension thaws just from looking at her.

“Hey! I got a notification on the security app and then I saw you standing there on the feed and figured maybe your key wasn’t working or something so I just decided to open the door, but sorry if you were having a moment or whatever.” Ellie looks down at her watch. “Also, you’re early!”

I smile at her rambling and then wince as my lip stings from the pull. Ellie’s face falls and I watch her zero in on the cut that’s probably bleeding now.

“What happened?” She reaches a hand up to my face and softly touches her thumb to the side of the cut. “Is this what Dev was talking about? Don’t they normally fix you up and tell you to ‘get back out there’?”

This is why I was standing here, not using my key. I should’ve considered the damn camera though.

I know I could tell her something vague to avoid the details, but I promised I wouldn’t lie to her after that first night, technically or otherwise. And giving selective truths feels almost as bad.

“I got ejected so I decided to just come here early,” I say as I grab her hand from my face and kiss her palm, threading our fingers.

I lead her back inside and shut and lock the door behind us, dropping my bag and taking off my shoes.

Sliding my keys onto the counter, I flip my hat around before dragging her over to the couch and onto my lap.

I set my hands on her waist only to have them fall as Ellie hops up and runs to the bathroom.

“What did Dev say?” I ask loud enough that she can hear me from there.

She’s back a moment later, resettling on my lap with a wiggle that makes me stifle a groan. She presses a gauze pad to my lip and then focuses on my eyes. “That I might want to tune in to the game. Why’d you get ejected? Does it have something to do with your lip? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I put my hands back on her waist and close my eyes. I know this conversation is going to suck, but having Ellie here with me is doing wonders for my mood. The rage has quieted and I’m just…happy to be holding her. I bask in that for a moment, fully aware this next part might not feel as good.

I open my eyes and look back and forth between hers. Ellie’s smart—she’s going to ask the right questions. “I’ll probably have a bruise on my ribs tomorrow, but I’m not hurt anywhere else,” I tell her with a slow shake of my head.

Her posture relaxes a little at that. “And the rest of my questions?”

I give her waist a quick squeeze and sigh. “I got ejected for slashing.”

Ellie looks back down at my lip before refocusing on me. “Slashing.” Not a question. She narrows her eyes. “You hit someone with your stick?”

I hide my surprise at her quick interpretation of the term and nod.

“On purpose?”

I hesitate and then nod again.

“You hit him and they made you leave? Why is your lip split?”

See? Right questions. I know I could just give her a play-by-play, but part of me is still hoping she’ll drop it and we won’t have to have the rest of this conversation. I made my bed…

“He wanted to fight afterward.” I withhold a wince. “So did I,” I tell her truthfully.

Ellie straightens at that. “You never fight.” Another non-question. She traces my two scars, one after the other, brow slightly furrowed. “Why’d you want to fight?”

This is the hard part.

I started a fight with Bryan McCormic at tonight’s game because he makes me sick and I kind of want to murder him.

Because I can’t look at his face without seeing the guy who killed Ellie’s mom.

Because he’s the reason my girl can’t get out of bed some days.

Because Ellie’s mom isn’t the one who should be fucking gone.

And because he deserves it and so. Much. Worse.

But I don’t want to talk to Ellie about how violent Bryan makes me feel. “It was a long time coming,” I answer simply.

Ellie’s eyes squint again and she gives me a slow nod, probably assuming this is some rival. In a way, he is. Boston is one of our longest rivalries to date, and we have both been on our respective teams for the past several years.

“Who were you playing?”

I’ve really come to enjoy Ellie’s indifference to my team and job, but right now I wish she already knew the answer to this question. Dammit. I really hope she isn’t mad, or worse, sad.

“Boston,” I tell her carefully, watching her face.

I watch her mouth silently repeat the word before her mind makes the connection and her body goes inhumanly still on top of mine.

I grip her waist a little tighter and try to anticipate any reaction.

She gets to feel however she wants, I remind myself.

I made this a little bit about me and I’ll face whatever consequences I need to.

Ellie moves to get up so I release my hands from her and try not to frown at the direction this could be going. Fuck. I would literally do anything not to upset her. Too little, too late, I tell myself. But honestly? I can’t bring myself to say I regret hurting that fucker.

She gets to her feet and goes to her room, surprisingly not shutting the door behind her.

Okay, that’s a good sign, right? I hear her rummaging around, but can’t tell what she’s doing from here.

I’m about to get up to follow her when she reappears and starts making her way back to me.

She’s got her laptop secured against her chest by her arms in the shape of an X.

Ellie sits next to me on the couch and crosses her legs before she sets her laptop on them.

She opens it and pulls up an internet browser.

What is she doing? I watch her navigate to Google as a sinking feeling takes hold.

She searches my name and today’s date and hits enter.

Ah, shit. There’s already multiple pages with video clips of the fight.

I cringe and brace myself to watch what happened from the viewers’ perspective.

From Ellie’s perspective.

She clicks the one with the most views and straightens her spine as it starts. It’s not hard to see why I got ejected—game misconducts like that aren’t tolerated for a reason, even when they aren’t fully on purpose. Someone could get seriously hurt.

Unfortunately for me it’s plainly obvious I didn’t accidentally thrash him in the chest with my stick.

It’s also clear after the gloves were dropped that I wanted to pummel the shit out of him.

And I did. I don’t feel any satisfaction though.

I’m mad at myself for being a cliché. And he should be behind bars, in my mind, not available for a beating while playing at a professional hockey game.

I feel the rage coming back and close my eyes to breathe through it.

I open them when Ellie squeezes the hand resting on my leg.

I look over at her to see her eyes on mine.

“It looks like you were trying to kill him,” she says quietly.

I continue to look at her and decide not to reply.

“Are you in trouble? Beyond getting ejected or whatever?”

“Probably. I’m sure I’ll find out soon,” I answer with a shrug way more casual than I feel.

I’m actually one hundred percent expecting a call about a suspension or fine, which is going to sting with so few games left to qualify for the playoffs.

Thankfully it looked like we were going to win tonight by the time I left, but if I miss a game and we lose, it’s going to be difficult to not blame myself.

I still can’t quite bring myself to regret what I did though, even now.

“I’m sorry if this means more stories come out, Ellie. ”

She ignores my apology. “Has that ever happened before?”

I exhale and shake my head, dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head. She always smells so good. So comforting. I pull back and look to her face again.

Ellie seems to be thinking something over. She opens her mouth to talk and then closes it. It’s not often I see her unsure of what to say.

“Did it make you feel better? Hitting him?”

Her hesitant voice strikes something deep inside me. Did it make me feel better? Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t think anything could actually make it better.

“Ellie.” I let out a breath. “I’m sorry I made this about me. It was like I didn’t have control over myself in that moment. I just saw red.” I pause and link my fingers with her hand that’s still loosely holding mine. “Nothing is going to make it better. He just deserved it. So much worse, really.”

She nods and squeezes our linked fingers. I think about what she asked and realize she might not be asking that question for my sake. She might be asking it for hers.

There’s something so heartbreaking about the idea of Ellie taking her anger out with those tiny fists. I’d hold his hands behind his back and kick him to his knees for her if I thought hitting him would make her feel better.

Right now though, I need to answer her question.

I try to choose my words carefully, thinking about how each one will come across.

“It felt like…I needed to. Like I was in a position to punish him in a setting that wouldn’t land me in jail.

I used my job as an excuse, Ellie. But it didn’t feel good and I don’t feel better, no. ”

Ellie has been facing forward, but now looks at me.

“I think if you hurt him, you might feel better for a second, baby, and then you’d get in trouble and he wouldn’t and you’d realize everything is still…the same,” I tell her.

Ellie’s lip quivers and I think I feel my heart crack under my ribs. She faces forward, looking at the TV with nothing on it. “You’re right,” she whispers on a subtle nod.

I pull her hand farther over and squeeze it between both of mine. Bringing our joined hands up to my chest, I press them over my heart where it still feels like there’s physical pain.

Ellie turns and I watch her throat bob as she looks at our hands and then up at my face. “Thanks for hitting him,” she says. “But no more getting in trouble for me.”

I don’t think I’m capable of promising that, so I lean forward to kiss her in answer, knowing I’d commit actual crimes for this girl.

Ellie pulls away and looks to the cut on my lip. “Did they have you ice it to help with the swelling?”

I shake my head, refraining from laughing out loud.

I know they don’t give a fuck about a swollen lip, but I don’t really want Ellie to think the medical team isn’t up to her standards.

I remember that night she thought I was hurt and feel myself sober.

I drop Ellie’s hand and pick her up, settling her on my lap so she’s straddling me again.

“They do a good job treating injuries that need it,” I tell her. She looks at my lip with narrowed eyes. “Would you want to come see?”

Ellie glances up at that. “See what?”

“The medical equipment and staff at the arena. I think even you, Miss Nurse, might approve.” I give her a wink.

“Would your teammates be there?”

“Depends. We could go to the practice arena, but that would be a drive. The arena downtown has pretty good facilities though and we could go on a day with no game. It’s possible there’d be someone there though.

They’re all good guys, Ellie, promise. They’ll always be real respectful around loved ones,” I assure her.

She smiles at that. Progress. “Okay, I’ll make sure it gets the Ellie stamp of approval.”

I pull her tight against me, burying my head in the crook of her neck. I press a kiss there and inhale slowly, savoring my favorite scent in the world—eau de parfum à la Ellie.

“Are you smelling me?” she murmurs from a similar position as me.

I nod against her neck and swear I can feel her smile.

“What do I smell like?”

Home.