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“You love her?” Darius repeats my words venomously.
“Yes. I fucking love her.”
“You wouldn’t know love if it bit off your dick.”
“That wouldn’t really be love now, would it?” Murphy interjects, but the levity isn’t appreciated.
“Fuck you. What do you know about me?”
“I know you fuck anything with tits and a pussy.”
“That’s not true,” I fire back. If he doesn’t shut his mouth I’m going to blacken his other eye.
“Yes, it is. You don’t even realize that’s how you are.”
“What the hell is going on here?” a deep voice barks.
Our heads swing in Coach Carlson’s direction.
“Hi, Coach,” Murphy says.
“Someone better tell me what’s going on, or you’ll be training with me next week,” he threatens.
None of us want to skate with Coach next week, that’s for sure.
“We’re having a disagreement,” I say.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “By the looks of your faces, I’d say it’s more than a disagreement.”
“Maybe,” Darius grumbles.
“I suggest you all cool off before this escalates. My daughter is marrying your fool ass tomorrow and I don’t want anything ruining it.”
A gasp breaks out behind me. Turning, I see Evie standing there with her hand over her mouth. “What the hell is going on here?” she yells in a panicked voice. “What happened to you all?”
“A small disagreement,” Murphy says.
“Small? This is what happens with a small disagreement?” she questions.
“Okay, it’s not so small, but we’re working on it,” Murphy tries to reassure her.
“Evie, what did you think you were getting when you agreed to marry a hockey player? I told you it was a mistake to be with him,” her dad says. When her eyes bug out of her head as if she’s about to go off on him, he rushes to say, “I’m just kidding, honey. But you should know by now, you can take the player out of hockey but you can’t take hockey out of the player.”
“I know that, Dad.” She rolls her eyes. “What if I beat it out of him?”
“Is she joking or serious?” Murphy asks.
Darius shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
Evie tucks her hair behind her ear. “At least you all match.” She studies the three of us. “We need ice. Lots and lots of ice.”
“That’s already been taken care of,” Wendy shouts to us as she and Calista walk up the hallway. She hands over an ice pack to each of us. I squeeze it until it pops, then shake it up. I press it to my eye and wince, but almost immediately it starts to lessen the pain.
“How did you know we’d need these?” Murphy asks Wendy.
“Come on. Everyone knows hockey players like to settle things one way and one way only—with their fists.”
Calista reaches up, cupping my cheek in her hand. “Ugh. That looks nasty.”
