Page 2 of Puck Princess

But it’s bullshit. I know it is.

With her history, Callie wouldn’t have even touched me if she’d known I played hockey. It’s a miracle I squeezed past her defenses. She never would’ve let Miles close.

“She was one hell of a PT,” Miles agrees, talking loudly enough I think he’s trying to give an on-ice interview to the press. Or make sure I hear every fucking word. “She worked wonders on my injuries. Probably would’ve done the same for other parts of me, as well, but…” He laughs and a couple of the guys are about to join in.

But everything ends when I grab him by the front of his jersey and slug him square in the face.

Surprised shouts ring out all over the arena as he hits the ice. But he bounces back up quickly and charges at me. I catch the shifting of my own image on the Jumbotron as I meet Miles in the middle, taking him to the ice. Everyone is watching us, and I don’t give a single fuck.

“I knew it was you!” I grit out as we roll, each of us fighting for the higher ground. “I knew you came onto her; I knew you made everything up. You’re a fucking liar and a snake!”

“Better than a fake!” Even through a bloody mouth, he grins.

“Admit it!” I growl. I’m on top of him with the clear advantage. “You took advantage of her! Say it!”

Whistles are blowing. The other team is egging us on. I can hear Coach Coleman screaming at me from the sidelines, but it’s all white noise. It’s nothing compared to the ringing of my pent-up rage.

“Say it!” I yell, shaking him hard enough his head bounces off the ice. “Tell the fucking truth.”

“Fine,” he coughs, staring up at me. “Alright, you win, Sharpe.It’s true.”

My hands are shaking with how much I want to snap his thick neck. There’s enough adrenaline thrumming through my veins that I think I could. I press him to the ice. “What’s true?”

“Callie was…so good.”

I punch him so fast that the last two words are muffled against my knuckles. His teeth cut into my skin.

He grabs me by the jersey, and we roll again. The refs make it through the huddle of players and grab us, but at this point, their whistles mean nothing. This shit runs too muddy and too deep.

It isn’t until Lance grabs me and Dax grabs Miles that we’re separated. We can’t afford for the two of us to be fucked up, and I know that. But I’m outside of myself right now.

“Back up.” Lance holds me by the shoulders, dragging me away from Miles. “He’s not worth it. It’s not worth it.”

But Callie is. She’s worth everything.

“He’s a lying piece of shit!” I spit out, spraying Lance in the face with blood.

“Let it go, brother. Let it go.”

He shuffles me off the ice, blood dripping from my chin, my ears still ringing. Miles is getting most of the attention. He winces as he stands up and takes a few limping steps before shaking it off. That earns him a few cheers.

Attention seeking pussy.

“Owen!” Coach Coleman’s voice is the only thing that keeps me from skating back out for round two.

“I know, I know. Bench.”

I pull my helmet off, but Coach stops right in front of me. “Not bench. Locker room. Get your shit and get the fuck out!”

Before I can argue—before I can tell Uncle Randy that Miles was saying about the niece he supposedly loves like a daughter—Coach spins around, jabbing a finger at the end of the bench. “Santos, take center.”

Spencer Santos leaps to his feet like this is his lucky day. Thanks to me, it is.

I swallow hard, my jaw tight.

I want to fight for my position and argue my case. But honestly? I’m pissed. At everything and everyone. And I was playing like shit anyway.

I shuffle down the tunnel to the dying sounds of drunk assholes thanking me for handing them the game.

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