20. CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY
THEO
I’m tracking the puck up the ice when I’m blindsided.
A shoulder drives into my ribs and takes my skates straight out from under me, sending me sideways before I can get an edge down. My blades tear uselessly across the ice as the fucker keeps driving, until my shoulder slams into the boards, rattling my teeth.
Pain punches through my side, winding me.
I stay pinned against the boards, lungs pulling uselessly for air while a high-pitched ringing fills my skull and swallows the rest of the rink.
I shove the fucker off, sending him back a step, ripping my helmet off and flinging it across the ice before I’m even fully upright.
“What the fuck?” I snarl, squaring up to him as my lungs finally start working again. “I didn’t even have the puck.”
Davey doesn’t bother pretending it was an accident, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth as he gives me a lazy shrug.
“What can I say, Knox?” His eyes slide over me. “Looked like you needed waking up.”
He shoves at my shoulder again, his head cocking. Taunting.
My skates slide beneath me, pain biting through the shoulder I just put into the boards, and whatever was holding me together fucking snaps.
Because I should’ve seen him coming.
That’s what really gets me.
I should’ve seen the hit. Should’ve had my edge down before he got anywhere fucking near me, but apparently I’m still too busy thinking about blue eyes and a mouth I can’t get out of my fucking head to play the game I’ve been playing most of my life.
And now this asshole is grinning at me because he fucking noticed.
My gloves hit the ice, and Davey’s smile widens.
“Yeah?” I’m back in his space before he can reset, close enough to see his grin falter. “You think that’s funny?”
My fist cracks across his face, his head snapping sideways, pain bursting through my knuckles where skin splits against bone.
Fuck, that feels good.
“Come on, asshole.” I crowd him again, barely hearing the roar building around us as everyone with half a brain starts getting the fuck out of the way. “Say something.”
Davey’s fist comes straight for my face.
I get an arm up just in time, taking most of it against my forearm before he plants both hands against my chest and sends me sliding backwards. My blades bite into the ice, and I’m already pushing off again, but Davey meets me halfway, burying a fist in my stomach.
“Fuck-”
I fold around it, air ripping from my lungs, pain taring up through my already fucked ribs.
I straighten with a growl, swinging for him, but Davey beats me to it.
His fist glances off my cheekbone and turns my head, splitting skin as my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek. Blood floods hot and metallic across my tongue.
I spit red onto the ice, turning back to him, a laugh bubbling past my lips.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing blood across my knuckles as I step towards him again.
“Yeah,” I rasp, grinning through the sting in my cheek.
“Now we’re talking.”
Davey comes at me, and I meet him halfway, the rink erupting around us.
A whistle shrieks over the crowd, gloves and sticks scatter across the ice and bodies slam together as one fight becomes three, maybe four.
Someone crashes into my back. A hand catches my jersey and disappears just as quickly.
There’s shouting everywhere, skates carving against the ice, the crowd losing its mind behind the glass.
None of it matters, my attention narrowing to Davey still in front of me.
We go down hard, my hip cracking against the ice before my shoulder follows, but I land on top and get one good swing in before he twists beneath me.
His fist bunches in my jersey and yanks, taking my balance with it, and then we’re rolling across the ice with fists flying wherever there’s something to hit.
After that, I stop keeping track of who lands what.
Davey catches me somewhere near the temple, knocking my vision sideways, and I taste blood when I grin and throw myself back into him.
My knuckles are split, my ribs fucking hurt, and for the first time all week there’s nothing in my head except the next hit.
Fucking finally.
He jerks beneath me, struggling against my hold on him.
“Had enough?” I spit, breath sawing in and out of my lungs.
Davey answers by grabbing a fistful of my jersey and hauling me down, our foreheads nearly colliding as I steady myself against the ice. My skates scrape for purchase while he tries to roll us, but I wrench myself back over him and draw my arm behind me.
My fist is already coming down when an arm locks around my stomach.
I’m hauled backwards, my skates leaving the ice, my fist cutting through empty air as Davey disappears out of reach.
“Knock it off,” Marcus growls against my ear, his arm locking around me, hauling me upright and pinning my back to his chest.
I thrash against him, throwing my elbow back, but he shifts out of the way before I can connect and locks me down tighter.
“Knox.”
His voice cuts through, but Davey is still right there, blood on his face while two of his teammates try to drag him away, and I wrench forward again.
Marcus barely gives me an inch.
“Knox,” he barks, hauling me back against him before giving me one hard shake. “Enough.”
I suck in a breath, ready to fight him too, but it sticks in my chest and comes out rough. The next one hurts worse, my chest heaving against Marcus’s arms while the roar in my ears starts separating into actual noise again.
Blood slips from my knuckles and spatters red between my skates.
I sag back into Marcus before catching myself, planting my skates beneath me as I drag my tongue across my teeth. Blood coats the inside of my mouth, thick and metallic, and I spit it onto the ice before tapping my knuckles against his forearm.
“I’m good,” I rasp.
Marcus doesn’t move, his hold barely loosening.
“I said I’m good.”
He keeps me there long enough for irritation to start crawling back beneath my skin, before his arms finally loosen and I pull away.
“You’re done.”
I whip round to face him. “What?”
“Get off the fucking ice.”
The anger I’d barely managed to get under control flares straight back up. “The fuck I am. I didn’t even start it.”
Marcus gives me that look.
That fucking captain look he’s perfected over the years, all hard blue eyes and try me without having to say a word. Usually it’s enough to make everyone else on the team fall into line.
Unfortunately for both of us, I’m not everyone else.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” I step closer, throwing my hands out between us. “He blindsided me when I didn’t even have the puck. What was I supposed to do, thank him for it?”
Marcus’s eyes leave mine, dropping between us to where my fists are clenched, blood dripping between my fingers where they’re twitching with the urge to swing.
His eyes lift to mine, hardening. “I really don’t recommend it,” he growls, low.
I stare at him, still pissed enough that some stupid part of me wants to ask or what? Just to see what he’ll do.
Probably put me on my ass.
Which would be fucking embarrassing considering I’ve already spent enough time there today.
I blow a breath through my nose and force my hands open, the torn skin across my knuckles pulling painfully as my fingers straighten.
“Bullshit,” I mutter, taking a step back before either of us gets the chance to find out.
Marcus’s hand comes down heavily on my shoulder before sliding around the back of my neck. “Come on,” he sighs.
He squeezes my nape, knocking his forehead against mine, and fuck him, some of the tension finally gives beneath it.
“You’re smarter than this,” he says quietly. “Get your head on straight.”
My jaw works around everything I want to say.
That’s becoming everyone’s favourite line lately.
Get your head straight. Get it together. Focus.
As if I haven’t fucking tried.
I blow out a breath and give him a reluctant nod. “Still bullshit.”
Marcus chuckles, letting me go. “Get off my damn ice, Knox.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and skate towards the bench, blood thick against my tongue, my cheek throbbing with every beat of my pulse and my ribs bitching each time I breathe.
I should feel better. Instead, I feel far from it.
The fight burned through some of the anger, but not enough. There’s still too much of it tearing around under my skin when I step off the ice, nowhere for it to go now that Davey’s being dragged in the opposite direction.
By the time I shove through the locker-room door, I’m wound tighter than I was before I threw the first punch.
My fist hits the locker.
The bang cracks through the empty room, metal caving beneath my knuckles, pain exploding through my already throbbing hand and shooting all the way up my arm.
“Fuck.”
I rip my fist back, blood streaking across the dent.
I stare at it, breathing hard through my nose while fresh blood gathers across my split knuckles and drips from my fingers.
I should be thinking about my hand.
Or Davey.
Or Marcus throwing me off the fucking ice.
Instead, blue eyes flash through my head.