Page 124 of The Chase

“It was a clean hit,” Hunter says.

I growl. “Nothing clean about that.”

“No? Sorry, then. My bad.”

His careless tone grates on my last nerve. “Whatever, bro. If knocking me around makes you feel better, go for it.”

“Aw, how generous of you, giving me permission to throw down. Totally makes up for the fact that you’re fucking the chick I like.”

Yup, he went there.

Nate skates closer, his stick dangling loosely from his glove. “C’mon, guys, we got work to do.”

We ignore him.

“Look, Summer and I have been dancing around each other for more than a year. I had a thing for her before I ever knew you.”

“Funny, you didn’t mention having a thing for her when I told you thatIdid.”

I can feel our teammates watching us, which gives rise to the familiar prickling sensation that means all eyes are on me because I’ve just been dropped into drama I can’t avoid.

I push past him, but he grabs a handful of jersey.

“Let’s not do this here,” I mutter.

“Why not? You don’t want everyone to hear what a dick you are?”

“Hey, ladies!” Coach shouts. “We don’t have all day. Get your asses back to the bench.”

Hunter reluctantly obeys. I happily do, because being the center of attention makes my skin crawl.

Coach announces we’re running more battle drills. The first drill involves two players out of the corner—one needs to drive the net, the other has to stop him. From the bench, I watch as several pairs battle it out. Then it’s my turn, and I’m not at all surprised when Coach announces I’m up against Hunter. Maybe, like me, he’s hoping Hunter will release all his hostility and leave it on the ice.

The second the whistle blows, Hunter uses every dirty trick in the book to keep me trapped in the corner. I finally break free and get a shot off, but the sophomore goalie,Trenton, easily captures the puck with his glove and then tosses it in the air with a grin.

“Run it again,” Coach demands.

So we do. Once again manhandling each other in the corner. I manage to gain possession and drive the net, but before I can shoot, pain jolts up my arm as the fucker two-hands me in the wrist.

“What thefuckis wrong with—”

I don’t get to finish the sentence. The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back, the wind completely knocked out of me.

His gloves drop. A fist slams into my chest. My helmet slides off, and another fist connects with my jaw. I hear the cheers and shouts of our teammates. Some are egging us on, others trying to break it up. Someone tries to pull Hunter off me. It doesn’t quite work, but it gives me the opportunity to ditch my own gloves and unleash a few decent retaliation blows. But then Hunter punches me again, and I taste blood in my mouth.

Breathing heavily, we take a few more swings at each other, until Nate launches himself between us and forcibly shoves us apart. A couple of the other seniors come up and grab hold of each of us to stop us from attacking again.

“Well? You ladies work it out?” From his perch near the home bench, Coach Jensen sounds utterly bored.

O’Shea looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Hit the showers,” he tells us.

I look down and notice the red droplets staining the ice. It’s my blood—I didn’t draw a single drop from Hunter. But I’m gratified to note that his cheek is beginning to swell. He’ll have a bruise tomorrow. I’ll have a split lip. Not quite even, but at least I leftsomedamage.

I meet his hard gaze. “I’m sorry, man.”

I think he’s scraping his teeth together, because his cheeks keep hollowing in and out. “Yeah.” He shrugs. “I think you actually mean that.”

“I do.”

---