Page 61 of One More Time

“Dude, the play’s stopped!” I shouted at the mass towering over me.

The refs made their way over and pulled him away from me—and the bastard had the audacity to smile.

“I’ll get my answers soon pretty boy,” he sneered.

I blinked in disbelief, and the next thing I knew, Hunter and Mouse were by my side closely watching Matthews.

“What the hell is that guy’s problem?” I asked.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?” Hunter was in my face, and I looked to him, desperate for answers. It was starting to dawn on me that I truly knew nothing about him, and it was just another thing that caused a fire in my belly.

“No, I’m fine. But whatever your beef is with that guy, keep me out of it.” I skated off and ignored his calls that followed.

The game continued with a lot of back and forth—then my plan finally worked. The tic-tac-toe of passes let us soar the puck into the net.

“Fucking finally!” I pumped my fist and skated to the bench to tap the outstretched fists of my teammates. It was a much-needed confidence boost for us all, and it seemed to kick us into gear. We followed up with another messy—yet efficient—goal.

Period three began on a tie, and the rage simmering in Merrimack’s eyes told us they were not going down without a fight.

Jarman sent the puck flying to me. He’d been cleared to play, and he was back with a vengeance. I passed to Hunter as I felt him approach my right wing. I went forward, waiting for the pass back. Matthews was hot on his heels, crashing his shoulder against the boards. Hunter stiffened, and I knew he was struggling. I went in and stole the puck.

It was enough to distract Matthews, but I didn’t like how labored Hunter was. I kicked the puck to Mouse as I felt Matthew’s incoming approach. He checked me, and I lost my balance, ass hitting the ice.

“Fucking dick.”

Hunter yanked me to my feet, pushing me back into play. “Keep going, baby,” he called, returning to the defense to clear space for Mouse.

But Matthews crashed into Hunter, driving his stick into his back. The whistle blew.

I saw red.

I leapt onto Matthews. Fists clenched to his jersey, I yanked him to his feet. Hunter clutched to his injured shoulder, which only fueled my rage.

I clenched one fist around Matthews’s mask, driving the other into his ribs. He held his own, but it only spurred me on. His size didn’t bother me.

Helmets came off, and fists kept flying.

“That’s enough, boys!” The ref called. “Otherwise I’ll call for another penalty.”

I pulled back spitting out a mouthful of blood. I felt hands grab me and go to pull me away.

“You fucking faggot!” Matthews shouted. “He’ll fuck you over too, just watch.”

I schooled my features. That fucker wasn’t going to out me., “I back my teammates wanker! Watch who you’re calling faggot.”

The moment those words left my lips, my anger shifted to a different focus.

Matthews knew Hunter liked men, and something told me their feud was more than friendly fire.

I shoved the hands off me and skated to the bench, wiping the blood from my face. The pain hadn’t hit yet, but I knew I was going to feel a world of regret for getting involved in any mess to do with Hunter Graves.

Chapter thirty-two

Hunter

He wouldn’t look at me. No matter how many times I tried to catch his eye, he deliberately avoided me. I needed to explain—right then and there. He needed at least a little bit of the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but enough to convey my intentions.

As the power play unfolded on the ice, Tyler insisted on being part of the action—against Coach’s advice. Meanwhile, I found myself benched due to my shoulder. Coach had seen the strain, and now I had to figure out a way to clear it without disclosing too much. My attention shifted to the game, focusing on our first line with Colton, Amon, and Tyler as forwards, while Jarman and Lachlan held down the defense.

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