Epilogue #3
Did he just fucking push my brother out of the dressing room? I’ll kill him. Or, I guess, try to kill him. Me fighting Rhys would be like Bigfoot trying to fight the woolly mammoth. I will step between them, though. I’ll give it a sec because there’s got to be an explanation.
I duck behind the wall.
“You don’t get to tell me what the fuck to do,” Griff says. Wow. His voice is strong. He wouldn’t even talk to me this morning. Not gonna lie, that fucking stings. But he sounds pretty fucking angry. Does being angry help him?
“I sure as fuck do,” Rhys says. “Who’s gonna stop me?”
Griff lets out a war cry—yeah, a war cry from Griff—and charges him. Rhys lets Griff crack him a good one across the face, then the jaw, then several to the ribs. Griff’s a decent size, and with most others he’d be doing some damage. Rhys is just a monster. Finally, Rhys catches his wrists.
“You done?”
Griff nods, sucking in lungfuls of air. Trembling.
But then he attacks Rhys in a different way.
With his lips. Fucking devouring his mouth.
Rhys kisses him back with the same brutal hunger, fueling it with combustible levels of fire.
And there’s an odd desperation pouring off both of them.
As if a valve has been released on a building need.
Their hands paw at each other. Griff’s to Rhys’s face, digging his nails in, drawing blood.
Rhys’s hands move from Griff’s waist to his back, one hand settling at the base of Griff’s skull, fingers digging into his hair.
It’s violent.
But they seem to thrive on the violence like it’s a lifeline.
It’s clear they’ve done this before and that they think any kiss could be the last one.
“I hate you,” Griff says, tears glistening, but he doesn’t let go.
“I don’t hate you,” Rhys says. “But I’m fucking pissed at you for being here.”
My heart pulses in my throat. Every instinct screams at me to charge over there and stop them.
If it was months ago, Months Ago Me would have.
But I’m paralyzed, unsure what to do. My relationship with Griff already hangs by a thin thread as he figures out who he is.
The last thing he should be doing is forming whatever the fuck trauma bond this is with Beckett, but if I tell him that, it might ruin any chance of our brother bond making a recovery.
I should go, but I need to see what happens.
Kane flies out of the dressing room. “What the fuck are you two idiots doing out here? You wanna get caught?”
Does everyone but me know about them?
“Ryan won’t come down here,” Rhys says.
“You don’t know that,” Kane says.
“You always t-take his s-side,” Griff stutters. Huh. He’s different when it’s not alone with Rhys. Rhys must make him feel safe. Still not in love with the whole thing for so many reasons but knowing that helps. Knowing that keeps me rooted to the spot instead of storming over there.
“No, I’m preventing a war, little cousin. C’mon, Becks. Game’s about to start.” Kane smacks Beckett’s ass as he walks by.
Griff tries to follow after Kane, murder in his eyes. Rhys stops him. “Whoa there, youngblood.”
Griff glares after Kane. “I don’t care if he’s my cousin. He touches you like that again, and he loses a hand.”
No stutter. All confidence.
“I’ll give him the message. As for you. You’re gonna sit your pretty ass in the stands where I can see you from the ice like a good boy. You don’t move. You don’t talk to strangers. Am I crystal fucking clear?” He gives some serious North Point military energy.
Griff nods, angrily wiping his eyes.
“Please tell me you didn’t bring Cooper,” Rhys says. Griff winces. “There’s only so much I can do to distract Gideon. He’s not gonna like finding out Cooper’s here.”
“Cooper doesn’t belong to Gideon, and I don’t belong to you, asshole. You all need to stow your alpha male bullshit.”
Rhys laughs. “Is that what you think? Good luck with that. Can’t speak for the rest, but I’m the alpha male of alpha males, sweetheart.”
Ugh. Griff and Cooper are gonna stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. I’m going to have to talk to Jane to make sure she keeps an eye on them. More like, keeps everyone away from them, so Becks and Gid don’t go on a fucking murder spree.
Maybe Griff doesn’t feel like he can talk to me right now, but I’ll still do anything and everything I can to help him. Looks like my game of cat and mouse is over before the cat had the chance to pounce.
I exit the locker room area, squeezing my way through a crowd that’s gotten a lot thicker in the past ten minutes. But the sea of people parts, and my husband, looking like the God of War, is storming my way. He flashes his teeth, letting one of the cuffs drop, dangling from a chain.
“There you are, dollface,” he says as if he didn’t know where I was. He so fucking did.
I forget about Griff and Rhys, forget about everything going on around us at the sight of my husband.
The crowd turns away from the ice, their attention focused on us.
The bastard. He fucking planned this, didn’t he?
Well, I’m sure he didn’t plan for me to see my brother making out with my best friend.
But he wanted this—an opportunity to publicly claim me.
He’s so fucking giddy, I can’t even be mad. I want to give him everything.
“Sorry, folks. This won’t take long. Just collecting my escapee husband,” he announces to the hockey mob. “Take the jersey off, baby.”
I make a show of removing it and handing it to him. I’m wearing a white T-shirt underneath.
“Good. Right arm out.” The bare, cuffless one. He attaches the metal handcuff and then secures the other side to his left wrist. He drags me to him for a heated kiss as the stadium goes wild. “You are in so much trouble.”
I shiver and smile against his lips.
“Baby,” I say into his ear. “My brothers are here. I need—”
“Already on it.”
“You are?”
He takes my cuffed hand in his, and I fall into step beside him. He steers me out of the main part of the arena.
“Before I could chase your ass out the door, my radio went off. Jane found them; she wanted to know what she should do. I told her to keep an eye on them until I found you.”
“Found me,” I scoff. “You knew where I was the whole time.”
“Fine, until I collected you, then.” He squeezes my hand. We head up instead of down like I expected, on the way to his special seats to watch the game. “So? Should I have them kicked out? Bring them to sit with us? Your choice, dollface.”
I agree with Rhys, neither of them should be here. If they are here, they should sit away from the heathens of the world up here with Tate and me. Though some might argue that Tate and I are heathens of the world.
“Can Jane and the team watch over them if they watch the game from the stands?” I ask.
“If that’s what you want.”
I nod. “But, um, any spare wigs lying around this place? A hat? They really need to hide that hair. It’s like a beacon.”
“I’ll radio Jane as soon as we get to the seats.”
We’re almost there, alone in a corridor that’s closed to the general public. Tate spins us, backing me against the wall, slamming our cuffed hands above my head. We interlace our fingers as he closes every inch of space between us.
“Who upset you?”
“No one. Tate.”
“Yes, they fucking did.”
“Fine. It was Griff. Pretty sure he’s with Becks or something. Not really sure.” I don’t think they know. “I saw them kiss.”
“You don’t want them together?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Say the word, and I’ll make sure they don’t come within a foot of each other.”
I laugh. “You’d do that for me?”
“Anything, Ryan. I’d do fucking anything for you. So? What’ll it be? I might have to get a cage custom-made for the big one, though.” Tate’s lips find the underside of my jaw. He presses kisses there, then sucks his way down my neck as the scent of his woodsy cologne fills my nostrils.
“It’s the thought that counts, baby. Maybe just help me keep an eye on them for now.”
“As you fucking wish, dollface.”