Page 40 of Cold Carnage

Weston Cole was different—a man with a wicked grin and eyes that gleamed with mischief. His presence was magnetic, drawing people in despite the underlying danger he exuded. He shot with precision, each movement calculated and smooth. Another vet, and just as deadly.

Kellan Bishop stood in goal, his wild hair and manic expressions earning him the nickname Venom. Despite his eccentric appearance, he was one of the best goalies I'd ever seen. His reflexes were cat-like, and he stopped shots that seemed impossible.

I skated over to join them. Rowan acknowledged me with a nod, his eyes focused on the puck.

“Kane,” he grunted, “need to blow off some steam?”

“Yeah,” I replied, grabbing a puck and setting it up for a shot.

Weston’s grin widened as he watched me. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” I muttered before launching the puck toward Kellan.

Kellan barely flinched as he caught it with ease. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to get one past me.”

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly as we continued shooting pucks at Kellan. Each hit felt like chipping away at the frustration lodged deep within me.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Rowan’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Nothing important,” I lied.

Weston laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

I didn’t respond, focusing instead on another shot. The puck sailed past Kellan’s glove this time, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thud.

The ice offered no judgment or rejection—just pure, unfiltered relief.

Weston leaned against the boards, arms crossed, watching me intently. “Fuck, Kane, fucking going off on a fan in public? What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

I sneered, my grip tightening on my stick. “I’m not a rookie, Cole.”

His grin didn’t falter. “You might not be a rookie, but even vets can screw up.”

Rowan fired off another shot, shaking his head. “He’s thirty, for fuck's sake.”

"A kid, far as I can see," Weston chimed in.

"Fuck off, old man," I said, though my heart wasn't in it. These two were guaranteed Hall of Fame inductees, both with exemplary careers. I looked up to them.

“For fuck's sake,” Rowan muttered again, his voice a low growl as he readied another puck.

I couldn’t help but twitch my lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Kellan’s wild hair bobbed as he nodded in agreement. “You know they’re right, though. That kind of stuff sticks around.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving them off. “I’ll handle it.”

Weston’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Handle it by not decking another fan?”

Rowan chuckled darkly. “Or maybe just deck them where there aren’t any cameras next time.”

We all laughed at that. The tension in my shoulders eased a bit more as the camaraderie between us filled the rink.

“You got any advice that doesn’t involve breaking more rules?” I asked Weston.

He shrugged. “Keep your fucking cool and let the girl do her fucking job.”

“Adams,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

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