“Um, too far?” he says, the two brain cells that roll around in his head on speed, warning him of the danger before him.
“Way too fucking far, McKinnon,” I growl.
“Sorry. I’m just tryna lighten you up, Coach.” Is the tension twisting my muscles that noticeable? His body sighs as if he’d like to say more but is resigned to the fact that he can’t in the middle of the bench. He leans over so he can speak quietly in my ear, so he doesn’t have to shout above the pandemonium. “For what it’s worth, I am trying to stay away from him, but he’s got a personal vendetta going tonight.”
Yeah, which is weird. I know he doesn’t love McKinnon, but this is more than his usual.
Finally, Ryan scores a goal.Yes! Nice one, baby.But it’s not enough to erase the added tension in my muscles. Ryan’s next attack is centered around McKinnon. The refs miss an accidentally-on-purpose slash to his skates, McKinnon goes flying. It only fuels McKinnon. He tosses his stick down; gloves and helmets go. Mckinnon swings.Crack!His knuckles connect with Ryan’s face.
Now my husband’s blood is on the ice, and I’m going to have to murder McKinnon. None of my shouting stops them. Where are the fucking refs? They go down, heads cracking together, fists continue to fly to a live soundtrack of cheers and boos from the crowd.
Finally, a whistle.
But as much as I want to blame McKinnon for everything, Ryan is the raging bull of the game. There’s grunting amongst my team about him, which means I’m not the only one to notice that he’s off.
“He’s a fucking dick, McKinnon,” Shep says, talking about Ryan. He and McKinnon are good friends, but they fight like teenagers.
“What was that?” I snap.
McKinnon elbows him, eyeing me in his periphery. “Bro.Shut. Up.”
Oh, good, they can tell when a tiger is about to rip their throats out. Not that they’ll ever need self-preservation instincts when they have their wealthy parents to save the day for them. Thankfully, the horn sounds, ending the first period before I take action on my dark fantasies.
Has it really only been one period?
In the locker room, I take some Advil. Ethan bitched at me when I tried to take them this morning, claiming I should give my liver and kidneys a break, but fuck my liver and kidneys. My head is about to explode.
Ryan is just down the hall. I could find a reason to go in there, find out what he’s enraged about. I remember him being upset about the Griff thing yesterday, but he wasn’t … like this. No, this tantrum on ice isn’t because of Griff.
He doesn’t think I said yes, does he? I’ve made myself very fucking clear several times—he can leave this marriage in a wooden box. Alright, so maybe I haven’t said it quite like that, but maybe I fucking should if he’s going to doubt me.
I introduced him to Pearl, intimately.
You also told him you loved him.
Yeah, when I was high, so he probably didn’t believe me on that one.
I shake my head. No. Even if he didn’t believe me, he knows he’s mine, and if he had any doubt, he’s smart enough to figure out that you don’t drug someone who’s compliant—ask me how I know—which means I couldn’t have given in to fucking Clarence and Henry.
A brief glance at myself in the mirror shows me where I’m at. God. I’m terrifying. I didn’t bother to do my hair; it’s loose, everywhere, and with those giant bags under my bloodshot eyes, I’m giving deranged. It’s a wonder they let me into the building. No hello from my friend Kazimir either.
A text comes through, and I jump to answer, hoping Ryan somehow managed to get a phone despite my fuck ups.
Luke
Tell Ace to behave himself. And maybe tell your fake husband to lay off him?
Normal words. My muscles coil tight.
I read them a second time. And a third. After four times, I put the phone away. I won’t let myself freeze in a loop.
Luke is going to know. Maybe he already does.
Irritating text message. I should delete it. I should delete all text messages from Luke going forward. If I stop talking to Luke first, make it my decision, it won’t hit me as hard.
My neck begins to ache.
I reach into my pocket for the little glass eye, smoothing my thumb over it. I wish it were Ryan’s heart, beating under my hand.
