“Fuck you, Sullivan.” He spits blood at me.
“Fuckyou, Eddie. You say one more goddamn thing about our coach, and I’m going to gut you.”
“You don’t have the balls. You’re her fucking lapdog,” he sneers at me.
I grab him by the collar of his jersey and lift him up so his skates dangle above the ice.
“Hey!” Ellie yells, skating over. “Fletcher, put him down.”
I ignore her.
“You have been misinformed if you think I’m some lapdog. While you were drinking and playing video games and losing hockey games at Boston University, I was in combat. So no, I have no problem gutting you right here on the ice,” I snarl into his ear before I drop him in a heap on the ice. “Fucking try me.”
Eddie scrambles up. “Wait, combat?” He narrows his eyes at me like he’s going to say something, like he’s going to tell everyone that I’m not who I said I was.
I lock eyes with him, channel Hudson when he’s at his coldest.
Fortunately for me, Eddie’s a little shit. He storms off the ice.
“Fletcher…” I stare down at Ellie until she gulps. “I will handle my team as I see fit.” Her voice doesn’t tremble.
Jovi is nervy. Cookie hides behind Bramms as I skate slowly to the blue line.
I can’t tell what Zayne’s thinking. And honestly, I don’t care. No one speaks about my coach like that.
I look them each in the eye.
“Line up for the next drill.”
“What are you doing?”Ellie demands, stopping me in the hallway before I can follow the rest of the team into the locker room.
“Going to shower. You want to join me?”
“No, I mean with Eddie,” she demands.
My teeth grind. So she heard him.
“People are going to say mean things about me. Sticks and stones, you know. You can’t just jump in and defend me every time. That’s crazy.”
“I’m not Ren, but I’m not sane either. And no one is going to say shit about you when I’m around,” I tell her sharply.
“It’s bad for the team.”
“Fuck the team,” I growl.
“We can’t let this”—she gestures between us—“come in the way of winning.”
I make a frustrated grunt. I want to kiss her, want to take her to a secluded place, want to fuck her to remind her she’s mine.
“This isn’t going to work if you’re more focused on me than playing. Oh my god,” she groans. “My dad—”
“I don’t give a shit about what your dad thinks, Candy Cane.”
She gives me a hurt look.
I run a hand through my sweaty hair. “Is Dana Holbrook going to be at the holiday party?”
“Dana Holbrook?” Ellie looks distressed.
