Page 125 of Puck Princess

If this is my last breath, I’ll use it to say the only thing I know to be true—the only thing I trust. I lift my chin and look at him as I say it. “Owen.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t have a chance to act on his rage. Another voice cuts through the moment.

“Santos!”

Spencer hears his name echo through the PT room and jerks away from me, turning around just in time to see Owen pounding towards us.

41

OWEN

“Bro, where are you going?” Dax’s voice rings out as I skate off the ice.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

It’s weird enough that Callie isn’t sitting in the stands. But the fact that Santos is nowhere in sight? That has me worried. Even if she did just get up to go to the bathroom or something, where ishe?

Callie said something about not staying quiet that had both Santos men looking uneasy, but I shoved it aside. I assumed she’d be safe for the duration of a hockey game and took the ice. But I should’ve stayed there and demanded answers. A few seconds ago, winning this game meant everything to me. Now, with Callie and Spencer both MIA, nothing else in the world matters.

“Sharpe!” Coach barks at me as I rip my skates off in a panic. “What are you doing? We’re on fire out there! Why are you taking your gear off?”

“I need to find Callie.”

“You need to find— Are you fucking kidding me? Get your head in the game, Sharpe!”

If Coach knew what I did—if hefeltit—he’d understand. He loves Callie.

“It’s not like that. I think she’s in trouble.” I jog towards the door before he can say anything else. None of it matters, anyway.

I knew me taking the ice instead of Spencer was going to cause problems with Rodger Santos. I was prepared for Spencer to retaliate against me. I was prepared to lose my job the second Rodger had any say at all in my future. But I didn’t think they’d go after Callie. I thought I was digging my own grave; not hers.

I need to find her.

When I get to the PT room, I nearly knock the wind out myself as I slam into the door.

What the fuck?

It’s locked. It’s never locked. Even after hours, the lights will be dimmed, but the door still opens.

My adrenaline is pumping like battery acid, every alarm in my system telling me something is wrong. I hear voices on the other side of the door. And what sounds like crying.

I back up and run at the door, ramming into it with the full weight of my hockey-geared body. And the lock snaps against my weight.

The door swings open, and I see them.

Both of them.

Spencer has Callie pinned against the wall. She’s crying, clearly terrified and in pain. Spencer looks like a rabid animal, rage contorting all of his features. He’s got his hands all over her.

“Santos!” I charge across the room at him, having no plan other than to rip him apart limb from limb.

I don’t need to know what is happening here. There is no amount of context that would ever make it okay for Spencer Santos to be that close to my fiancée. There is no reason she should be crying.

Spencer springs away from Callie, eyes wild. Then he sees me, and he has the gall to look annoyed with me. Like I’m interrupting. He puffs himself up like he’s going to square off with me, but my only goal is to get him as far from her as possible. I don’t slow as I close in on him, slamming my body into his and forcing him back against the wall.

I drive my forearm into his chest, itching to let it slide up to his throat, to watch him sputter and turn blue. “You are never going to touch her again.”

He chuckles around a gasp. “That’s up to Callie to decide.”

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