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Preston straightens when he sees my dad and says, “Coach. I was just—”
“You’re just practicing, Parker. Get your ass back out there and stop kissing my daughter.”
“You got it, Coach.” He winks at me, and then he skates off.
“Hey, Dad.” I give him a sheepish wave hoping he doesn’t yell at me. “I thought it would be a nice surprise since this is Preston’s last year on the team and your first year as head coach. Plus, Boston isn’t super far.”
“You should be home studying or working on your ball handling skills… not chasing after boys.”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not chasing after Preston. I want to be supportive. I’m here for you, too. Not just for Preston.”
He smiles. “Okay, well, go take your seat and stop distracting my players. Parker needs to stay focused. This is a big game for us.”
“I know.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
When I turn around, I lock eyes with Kellan Lehane. Fear floods my veins, adrenaline rushing through my body. He mouths something to me I can’t make out, and I’m not sure I want to know what disgusting things he said.
Seeing him fuels my rage making me wish Preston would rearrange his face. If only I could get his attention. Because I want nothing more than to see this asshole hurt the way I have for so many years.
ChapterTwenty-Three
PRESTON
Lining my stick up with Kellan Lehane’s, I take away his shot forcing a fight for the puck. He can either pass it, and hopefully fuck it up, or let me take it from him. I’m the best defenseman in Division I hockey. He knows it. This puck is mine.
I nudge him with my left elbow, pushing him into the boards as he attempts to maintain possession. “I had her first,” he says, throwing me off my game. “Bex Bryant.”
I stagger back at the mention of her name giving us some distance.
His eyes lock onto mine for a split second. “You heard me, Parker.”
I elbow him in the side. “Fuck off.”
I promised Bex I wouldn’t start a fight and that I would keep my cool around Lehane. And now she’s here watching my every move. I can feel her eyes on me, hear her soft voice in my ear, telling me to back down. This dickhead makes it so hard not to lose control.
He’s goading me, taunting me to make the wrong move. Lehane deserves a beat down for what he did to my girl.What kind of man would I be if I didn’t do something about it when the asshole is right in front of me?This is my chance. A penalty is worth it. Isn’t it?
Tucker appears at Lehane’s other side helping where I am failing. Because I’m blowing it, my head totally fucked from what he said. I need all the assistance I can get. No one on my team knows about Lehane and Bex. They have no idea how much I want to beat the shit out of this stupid motherfucker.
I clench my jaw in anger, the pain from biting down on the mouth guard causing my jaw to pop. It does that sometimes. Ever since I fractured my cheekbone during a game in high school.
Tucker steals the puck from Lehane skating away in a frosty blur. But Lehane is not going anywhere. As he attempts to go after the puck, I push him into the boards, slamming him face first with my glove on the back of his head. I don’t care about the penalty.
Fuck, this feels good.
The referee calls a penalty on me—five minutes for boarding. And the linesmen pull us apart, one of them tugging on my jersey until I willingly skate over to the penalty box. Jamie looks at me and shrugs as if to ask why I would do something so stupid. I wish I could share this with him. For so long, I’ve wanted to tell someone in hopes I could find a solution for Bex.
Now, Boston is on the power play giving them a slight advantage over us for the next five minutes. I fucked my team, but I don’t regret it. We’ll make up the minutes. Our team has an eighty percent penalty kill percentage… but that’s usually with Jamie and me on the ice together.
I strip off my gloves and sit on the bench in the box, my anger radiating through me. I never allow anyone to fuck with my head during games. I’m always the calm, centered player on our team. Because I have to be. That’s why I am the team captain. But now I need someone to put my ass in check.
Coach Bryant glances over at me, his jaw set. He shoots me a warning look that says,Knock it the fuck off before I bench your ass. This game means a lot to him, to all of us. We need this win. The Frozen Four is so close, our team right there on the finish line. I have to keep it together.
Not until the third period am I on the ice again with Lehane. Tucker looks to me having just enough room to slap the puck to me. Tied 3-3 with Boston, we need this goal. I can’t go home with my head hung low and a point in the loss column.
Lehane is on me this time, right on my ass, sweeping his stick in an attempt to take the puck from me. He’s a dirty player. I’ve seen him do sneaky shit dozens of times without the refs catching him. I switch the puck to my weak side, and Lehane swings his stick at my leg, the move clearly intentional.
I’m waiting for the referee to take his head out of his ass and call a penalty for slashing. The bastard gets away with it like he does everything else, which only fuels my rage.
