I don't think about it. My fist connects with his face and I feel cartilage crunch under my knuckles. Savard's head snaps back and he staggers, blood already pouring from his nostrils, but he doesn't go down. He grabs the boards with one hand and blinks at me like he can't process what just happened.
I grab the front of his jacket and hit him again. This one catches his cheekbone. I feel the bone give, a sickening shift under my knuckles that sends a jolt up my entire arm. Savard drops to one knee on the rubber mats, his free hand flying to his face.
Mollie screams my name. One of the girls on the ice starts crying.
I hit him a third time.
The third punch is the one I'll remember. Not because it does the most damage, but because I had time to stop before I threw it. It was a choice.
Savard goes down flat. Blood sheets from his nose and a dent is already forming under his left eye where the cheekbone is damaged. He makes a horrible, choking gurgle, curled on his side, both hands coming up to cover his face.
My right hand is already swelling. Two of my knuckles are split open and there's a sharp ache in my ring finger that I recognize from experience as a probable fracture. But I barely feel any of it. The adrenaline is a wall between me and the consequences.
Right now, vengeance is singing in my blood. If Savard didn’t look so pathetic, I might hit him again.
Mollie pulls at my arm, her voice rising. "Alex, stop. Stop."
I step back from Savard's body. My chest heaves and blood drips from my knuckles onto the black rubber mats. Somewhere behind me, a girl is sobbing. She doesn't know why the giant hockey player just destroyed her coach's face.
Nobody is going to explain it to her today, I bet.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Beck's voice hits me like a bucket of ice water. I turn and there he is, standing at the rink entrance with his gym bag over his shoulder, staring at the scene in front of him.
Savard’s bleeding on the floor. I’m standing over him with split knuckles. Mollie’s pressed against my side, her hand on my arm, her eyes damp. Beck is smart, and the scene leads to some obvious conclusions.
Fuck it. There could not be a worse time for him to find out about us, but I’m done lying, even for my girlfriend.
Beck looks at me. He looks at Mollie. His eyes drop to her hand on my arm and stay there for a long second. Then he looks at my face and I watch him put every single piece together.
Savard chooses this moment to be vindictive. From the floor, through the blood and the shattered bones of his face, he manages to spit the words. "Get your brat of a sister and her psycho boyfriend away from me!"
I take a step toward Savard, raising my fist. Savard hisses and covers himself. But Mollie steps in, stopping me with both hands flat on my chest. "He's done. He's done, Alex."
Beck hasn't moved. He stands at the entrance with his bag over his shoulder and his expression going through stages. Confusion. Processing. And then something that settles into his face like concrete hardening. He doesn't yell. He doesn't charge at me or throw a punch. He just looks at his best friend and co-captain with an expression that is worse than any violence he could manage.
Betrayal. The kind that doesn't come with anger attached, not yet. Just the hollow, gut-sick realization that the person you trusted most has been lying to your face.
"Beck." My voice sounds wrong, raspy and desperate. "Let me explain."
He shakes his head once. It's a small movement that carries the weight of our entire friendship.
Savard is trying to get up and failing. One of the assistant coaches has appeared from somewhere and is kneeling beside him, calling for help. The girls are clustered at the far end of the ice, the one with the pink bow clutching the boards, her ribbon askew.
Someone is going to call an ambulance. Juliet, the front office, my agent, and probably the fucking police. I did just break a civilian's face in a Seattle Havoc facility.
None of that registers, because Beck is still staring at me. I stare back, trying to find the words to make this right. I know there aren’t any.
Beck turns and walks out of the rink without saying a single word. The door swings shut behind him and the sound echoes.
Mollie grabs my face, making me pay attention to her. “We should go. Let’s head into the locker room and wait.”
I wrap my arms around her and she burrows against my chest. My busted hand throbs and Savard groans on the floor. “Yep. Come on.”
I start toward the tunnel. Everything I built just broke apart in thirty seconds. My friendship, my captaincy, my right hand, and probably my career. I hold Mollie tighter, because she's here, she's real, and right now she needs me more than my pride does.
I'd do it again. Every single punch.
