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After carrying me to the shower and helping me dry my hair properly, we dressed and headed off to get married. It was clear he’d planned it all, and it was entirely perfect.

This is real. Forever. And I have the ring on my finger to prove it.

Sticking it up, as if I’m flipping everyone off with my ring finger, I showcase the golden band. Toren tries, and fails, to hide his grin as I meet his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” My dad barks out the question.

“She’s my wife,” Toren says. He extends his open hand for me, and I rush to grab it, holding it to my chest as my eyes look him over. He pulls me closer. “You know you’re allowed to be wherever I am, yeah?”

“Yeah, I know. You and me.”

He smiles and ruffles my hair. “Yeah, Lil. Forever.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” LaBlanc shouts, pressing into the room. I can see Holden just behind him—Rhys, Freddy, a few of the others all close by, hovering. I wonder how many of them have noticed the way my dad treats Toren and Holden. If Liam picked up on things that swiftly, there’s no way my father has avoided suspicion.

Something settles in my chest. I’m not alone—I never have been, but this time we’re not alone. Toren and I are okay because we have people behind us this time.

Toren has people who care. My throat tightens, eyes feeling wet.

A worried look rolls over Tor’s face, and he tugs me closer, turning to swing his feet over the side of the table. He’s still dressed from the waist to his skates, warm and sticky with sweat that makes my nose wrinkle as I sink into his embrace.

My dad steps closer, yelling again, “This is a fucking joke.”

“It’s not,” I snap, brow furrowing.

“Let’s all just take a step back and calm down,” Harris says, moving to Toren’s other side with his hand on Toren’s shoulder. “Boys, stay warm and get some water. LaBlanc, lead the debrief.”

But my dad isn’t listening, his eyes burning a hole in my forehead where I refuse to look up at him, concentrated on Toren’s tattooed fingers splayed across his hockey pants.

“Are you okay?” I ask, voice quiet.

“I’m fine, Lil,” Toren whispers, kissing my temple again. He can’t stop kissing me, pulling me closer, but I can see the yellowish-green hue of his entire abdomen, even if it’s slightly skewed by his tattoos. The scrapes and scars have healed some, making most of the Starry Night tattoo disfigured, stretches of scarred skin empty of the lines I know should be there.

But Toren’s other hand is flexing, touching his own ribs with a heavy wince. I saw him go down. I saw who hit him too.

Maybe my dad thinks I’m stupid. That I am so easy to manipulate, and that’s why he’s in such shock. But I know he did this to Toren.

Rage swallows me whole, and I shove away from my husband, standing as wide as I can in front of him, facing Christopher LaBlanc.

“This is your fault.”

My words make everyone freeze.

“What—”

“I heard you with that guy from the other team. That— That guy who hit Toren.”

“McKill,” Holden offers, eyes intent on me. Supportive, arms crossed. “That’s his name.”

I swallow and nod. “I saw my dad talking to him before the game. I didn’t know what it meant but he was talking about Toren’s stomach—that he saw it in practice yesterday and knew he was hurt. And he told him—he told him to hit him intentionally.”

My body doesn’t feel like my own, nothing but anger and fury flowing like waves over my skin—and as if he knows I’m going to jump, to hit my own father the same way I hit that asshole McKill, Toren wraps an arm around my waist.

I don’t fight him. The second he winces, I go still.

But I don’t need to. Harris rears back and hits my dad first. Square in the nose.

Blood pours, my dad tripping into the wall as Harris goes for him again.