Page 51 of Wicked Dreams

“Get out of my fucking face, asshole.” He shoves me.

I rock back a few steps and put some distance between us. He shakes out his arms, reading me well. I’ve been needing an outlet for ages now. Even since before Margo showed up, I’ve been bottling my emotions. At hockey practice, I’ve been restrained. With her, I’ve showed control.

Now, it’s all about to explode outward.

I crack my neck and grin. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this.”

His smile is just as unhinged. “Ready to get your ass beat? Bring it.”

I lunge for him and land the first punch. His head snaps back at the impact, absorbing the blow with a sneer. Blood drips from his nose, over his top lip. His tongue flicks out, tasting it, and a switch flips inside him.

Game on.

Classmates make space for us, some jeering while girls down the hall scream. My blood pumps hotter, faster.

Liam and I dance around each other, maneuvering for the best angle. He strikes fast, his fist coming out of nowhere. His knuckles glance off my cheekbone, and pain spikes through my face.

More.

I dive for him, a tackle better made for a football player than me, and we go down. We roll, trading punches, until I end up on top. Hands grasp at the back of my shirt. I almost shrug them off, but their grip tightens. I’m lifted bodily off of Liam and slammed face-first into a locker.

Fuck.

Ow.

Only one person in the school is strong enough to do that.

“Sorry, Coach,” I say against the metal, ignoring the bite of pain where Liam hit me.

Coach’s grip on my neck doesn’t soften. “You think a sorry will cover this mess? In my office before practice.Both of you.”

And then he’s gone. The crowd parts for him, most students jumping out of the way to avoid his ire. He’s as much of a legend as the rest of us, honestly. He went to Emery-Rose when he was in high school and captained the hockey team for three years. He led them to two championship titles.

The main takeaway from his accolades: he’s not someone to disappoint or piss off, and we singlehandedly did both.

The disgust in his voice spears through me.

I push myself off the locker and offer my hand to Liam. He takes it, and I haul him up. We both look in the direction Coach left.

“Damn,” Liam mutters. “He’s going to take it out on us with drills, isn’t he?”

I sigh. “I don’t even want to fucking think about it.”

He brushes under his nose, smearing blood, and then glances at me. “I got you good. Split lip.”

I laugh, touching it. “Better than my eyes swollen shut. Have fun with that at practice.”

He grimaces. “Fuck you.”

We part ways, me headed for my third class of the day with Margo Wolfe, and him who fucking knows where.

And I feel exponentially better—and worse.

Chapter 11

Margo

“You got into a fight?” I blurt out.

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