“What the fuck are you doing here, Griff?” That should be my voice, but it’s not. It’s Rhys.
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.”
