36. Dean
Dean
Maddie practically shoves me out of her office. Not physically at first. Verbally.
With that stubborn set to her jaw that tells me arguing is pointless because she has already made up her mind and I am the only one still pretending there’s a discussion to be had.
“Dean,” she says, both hands flat on my chest, pushing me back a step toward the busted doorway. “You have to go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are.” Her tone says she will absolutely drag me by my ear if she has to.
Under any other circumstance, I might find it cute. Right now I find it infuriating.
“Maddie—”
“No.” She lifts a finger between us. “You have a team to coach and I have a job to do.”
I stare at her. She stares right back. Still shaken. Still pale. But there’s steel there now too, and I know that look well enough to understand what she’s really saying.
Tyler doesn’t get to take this building from her. He doesn’t get to make her hide. He doesn’t get to turn her into something fragile. She sees the moment I understand because her expression softens.
Just slightly. “I will not be scared in my own arena,” she says quieter now. “And I know I’m protected.”
That last part hits me square in the chest. Because she says it looking right at me. Like she means you.
I exhale hard through my nose and force my hands to unclench. Every instinct in me is screaming to keep her in my line of sight, to lock her in my office, in my truck, in my damn apartment—somewhere Tyler can never get near her again.
But if I do that—he wins. And she’ll hate it.
So I lean down, press one hard kiss to her forehead, and rest mine there for one second longer than necessary.
God, I love her. I hate this. But I love her.
She slips around me and heads down the hallway to find Luka so they can go do their pre-warmup locker room clips like this is a normal damn game day.
I stand there for half a second watching her walk away, every muscle in my body resisting the urge to follow.
Then I force myself toward the coaching room.
The next twenty minutes are a blur of line combinations, special teams reminders, and assistant coaches talking while I pretend to listen. I answer when I need to. Nod when I’m expected to. But my mind keeps flashing back to the shattered phone on Maddie’s office floor.
To her pinned in that corner. To the sound of her saying Coach… By the time the players head out for warmups, I need sixty seconds where no one is looking at me.
Just enough time to get my head back on straight before I have to stand behind that bench and pretend I’m coaching a hockey game instead of planning a homicide.
I peel off and head toward the locker room expecting silence. Expecting empty stalls. Expecting one minute alone.
Instead—Luka is sitting on the taping table. Grady is leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed. Both of them are staring at me like they’ve been waiting. I stop in the doorway.
Yeah. I’m not getting that minute.
Luka is off the taping table before I fully clear the doorway. “What the fuck was that?”
His voice bounces off the concrete walls, anger already radiating off him in waves.
I shut the locker room door behind me and keep walking like I didn’t hear the accusation. “You should both be warming up.”
Luka just stares at me. Actually stares. The kind of look that says are you genuinely this stupid?
I blow out a breath and glance toward Grady. “Why are you here?”
Grady lifts one shoulder, still leaned against the wall but no longer relaxed.
“Came in and found goalie boy in a fucking mood,” he says, jerking his chin toward Luka. “Mumbling something about Maddie and Tyler and looking like he wanted to punch through drywall.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Figured I should stay since that girl is basically everybody’s sister.”
Something twists in my gut at that. Because if they knew—if either one of them knew the full extent of what Maddie is to me now—this conversation would be a hell of a lot messier.
Not just sleeping with her. Jesus, if only it were that simple. I’m in love with her. The thought flashes hot and possessive through my chest, immediately followed by the image of Luka and Grady deciding to play protective brother over a woman who spent the last three nights in my bed.
No. Absolutely not.
Luka takes two steps toward me, ripping me out of that train of thought. He is vibrating. Actually vibrating with rage. “Tell me we’re doing something about that asshole.”
I hold his stare. Then shake my head once.
Luka explodes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he bellows, throwing both hands out. “He fucking hit her!”
Grady shoves off the wall so hard his shoulders slam into full attention. “He what?” His voice drops. Low. Dangerously low.
Luka waves his hands around like we are all fucking stupid. “He hit Maddie.”
Grady’s head snaps to me, eyes darkening. “Is she okay?”
I am already glaring daggers at Luka. “Weeks ago,” I bite out, shaking my head once at Grady. “Before he went to Denver.”
But Grady isn’t listening to the timeline. Doesn’t care. The only words either of them heard are he hit Maddie.
Luka starts pacing. Hands in his hair. Muttering curses under his breath. “This is bullshit. This is actual bullshit.”
Before I can say anything else, Grady crosses the room, grabs Luka by the front of his pads, and hauls him toward the door.
Luka stumbles with the force of it.“What the hell—”
“Move.” Grady doesn’t even look at him. He yanks the locker room door open.
“Where are you going?” I bark.
Grady pauses in the doorway and turns back toward me. And the smile that stretches across his face is not remotely sane. Menacing. Calm. The kind of smile that means he has already made a bad decision and is perfectly at peace with it.
“Need to warm up,” he says casually. Then his eyes flash. “And have a little chat with Jake and Jasper.”
Oh, fuck.
I stay planted in the middle of the locker room and try very hard not to think about what four pissed-off hockey players can accomplish in under ten minutes.
It’s not helping. Especially when Grady and Luka came back in with Jake and Jasper looking way too calm. That quiet, collected kind of calm that means something has already been decided.
Jasper won’t stop cracking his knuckles. Grady has that same terrifying little half grin still sitting on his face. Luka looks like he wants Denver to line up single file. And Jake—Jake is silent.
Which somehow feels worse than all of them. Yeah. There is no chance in hell those two didn’t tell them. Not with the way Jake’s jaw has been ticking for the last five minutes.
The room settles when he steps forward. Pads rustle. Tape gets tossed aside. Helmets are grabbed. Every guy’s attention shifts to their captain. Jake plants his feet in the center of the room, eyes sweeping over his team slowly, methodically.
When he speaks, his voice is calm. Too calm.
“This is our house.” A few helmets knock against stalls as guys straighten. Jake points toward the hallway leading to the ice. “They do not come in here and get comfortable.” His tone sharpens. “They do not get one fucking inch.” A low rumble of agreement moves through the room.
“If they push—” He pauses. His eyes go darker. “We hit.”
More nods. More focused breathing.
“If they chirp, we chirp louder. If they take a shot, we finish it. If they think they can come into this building and take anything from us—” His jaw clenches. “We take blood.”
A few guys bark out sharp laughs. Sticks slap against the rubber floor. Energy spikes instantly. Violent. Controlled.
Exactly what a pregame speech is supposed to do. But standing here listening—I know this isn’t just hockey. Not tonight.
Not with the way Jake’s gaze flicked toward the Denver logo that is on the white board like he wanted to burn it off.
Not with Jasper rolling his neck like he’s preparing for a street fight.
Not with Grady looking entirely too eager.
And definitely not with Luka staring at his gloves like he’s imagining Tyler’s face under them.
My eyes shift across the room. Find Maddie. She’s standing by the media corner with her camera up, filming the whole thing like she always does. Professional. Focused. Oblivious. Or at least pretending to be.
She probably thinks this is Jake doing what Jake always does—giving a hard speech before a rivalry game. She has no idea the guys that love her like family now know enough to be homicidal. No idea this speech feels a little too pointed. A little too personal.
Because by the looks Jake and Jasper wore when they walked back into this room—Grady and Luka absolutely filled them in.
Every ugly piece. My jaw tightens.
This is either going to be the best motivated game of the season—or I’m going to spend sixty minutes trying to stop my players from committing felonies.
I am absolutely going to spend this game stopping felonies. I know it before the puck even drops.
Tyler isn’t on Denver’s first line, which buys me a few opening minutes of normalcy—or at least something that looks like normalcy to everyone else in the arena.
The building is loud. Chicago-home-game loud.
Music shaking the glass. Fans pounding the boards. Luka doing his usual dramatic goalie stretch at center ice because he knows the crowd eats that shit up. Jake slapping his stick against the tunnel wall to get the lower bowl screaming.
From the outside, it looks like every other game in our house. But I know better. Because I can see it. The tension sitting under my players’ skin.
Jasper keeps circling too close to the Denver bench during line changes, his eyes flicking over there every chance he gets like he’s waiting.
Grady’s checks are harder than they need to be three minutes in. Luka is in his crease bouncing like he wants someone to test him.
Jake hasn’t said a word since his speech. Not one. And that somehow has me more on edge than all of them.
I stand behind the bench, arms folded tight, trying to coach actual hockey while simultaneously tracking four men who have murder on the brain.
This is ridiculous. I’m babysitting. Highly trained, fully grown, revenge-fueled babysitting.
Denver dumps the puck. Jasper retrieves. We cycle. The crowd roars. Another line change.
My eyes go straight to the visiting bench. There. Tyler vaults over the boards.My pulse spikes. Every muscle in my body locks.
I immediately search for the threats. Grady. Jasper. Grady is already turning. Jasper’s shoulders tense.
I shoot both of them a look sharp enough to cut steel. Don’t.
My stare lands on Jasper first. Not a chance. Then Grady. Absolutely not.
I’m practically trying to coach telepathically at this point, willing them with my eyes not to do something that gets me suspended for life. And because I’m so focused on those two idiots—I miss the one person I should have been watching.
Jake.
It happens in less than a second. Tyler barely gets two strides onto the ice before Jake comes across center like a freight train.
No hesitation. No warning. Just pure captain-sized fury. He slams Tyler into the glass so hard the entire panel shudders. The arena gasps. Tyler’s helmet goes flying. Jake’s gloves hit the ice.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” My voice is lost among fifteen thousand people losing their minds.
Tyler shoves back. Jake answers with a right hook straight to the jaw. Then another.
The linesmen are moving but not fast enough because Tyler gets one in and Jake just seems to take that as permission to absolutely lose his shit. Punches fly. Players from both benches start screaming.