Page 127 of Scoring Lessons

Voices broke through—shouts, whistles—but they sounded far away, like it was a lucid dream. I didn’t know where I was standing anymore. All I knew was I had all this pent-up anger, and the source of it was right in front of me.

“This is for calling her a bitch.” My fist hit the left side of his jaw, and his head snapped to the side with a pained groan. “This is for cheating on her.” This time my fist met his right side. “And this is just because I fucking can.” I punched him right in the nose, and a bit of blood started to spurt out of one of his nostrils.

“Hayes, stop,” Morgan barked as he tried to hold me back, but I got out of his hold easily.

Fuck being the peaceful guy.

Fuck being the nice guy.

He deserved every single punch I gave him—and more.

No one who talked about the love of my life got to walk away unscathed.

I grabbed Holt by his jersey and shook him then got right in his face. “Don’t you ever call my girl a bitch again,” I said harshly, my breath heavy. Anger still thrummed beneath my skin, lighting it on fire. “Are we clear?” When he didn’t answer, I shook him harder this time. “Are. We. Clear?”

“Yes,” he blurted the word, his tone pained.

The linemen were finally able to push us apart, and some of my teammates used enough force to hold me back before I could throw another punch for good measure.

When Holt spat, his saliva was mixed with some blood.

I knew the physical pain was less severe than the emotional scars he’d given Olivia, and God only knew I’d work every day of my life to help her realize how everything he said was a lie, but this was better than nothing.

Holt stared at me dead in the eyes and started to laugh. It was manic and mocking, like he was privy to a joke no one else knew about. It filtered through the yells of the fans, the voice of the referee who was trying to get a handle on the situation.

He leaned forward, resting his hands against his knees as he tried to control his laughter. Even then, his eyes remained steady on me. “You’ve been fucking your best friend’s sister, haven’t you?” He straightened to his full height and looked over my shoulder, his smug grin showcasing bloody teeth. It was the smile of a devil who knew his words were going to have consequences, and he relished the thought. “And by the looks of it, he didn’t even know.”

His words were like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown at my face.

I’d become so tunnel-visioned, I’d forgotten every one of my teammates was standing around us.

I turned around in a panic and found Anderson standing behind me. His jaw was tight, his eyes were a darker blue, filled with fury, as he looked between Holt and me.

I skated toward him. “Anderson, it’s not what⁠—”

“Not now.” His voice was gruff. Gone was the casual tone he normally used with me, replaced by cold words. Angry words. Then he skated past me, pushing my shoulder with his. “After the game.”

The referee stood in front of the net and said, “Chicago, number 22—five-minute major for fighting, two-minute minor for aggressor, and a ten-minute game misconduct. He has been ejected from the game.”

As I stepped off of the ice, I couldn’t even lie to myself. Despite the inevitable consequences this was going to bring—I had zero regrets.

And for my girl?

I’d do it again.

THIRTY-FIVE

OLIVIA

WHAT’S YOURS, HUH?

I shoved the door open and left it wide as I rushed into the locker room with a small emergency kit and ice pack in hand.

Wesley was sitting in his stall with his elbows resting on his thighs and his head hung between his shoulders.

I reached for him in two quick strides and kneeled before him. “I have to clean your wounds.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled between heaves of breath.