Page 69 of War

Hall gapes, then sputters, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Yeah, now you get why I’m so fucking pissed.”

“I don’t,” Brooks grumbles, “and I’d rather be focusing on my pregame visualizations than playing twenty questions, so spell it out for me.”

We all have pregame rituals. Brooks puts on headphones, closes his eyes, and visualizes every play an opponent could use to get past him and into his goal. Aiden follows along with whatever spicy book his wife is reading—this is a new routine and one I’m still not sure I’m on board with, considering he cloned her phone in order to do it. Hall and Camden play cards with a few of the rookies.

I bounce between the guys with AirPods in place in case I want to listen to music and a deck of cards at the ready if the mood strikes. It usually becomes clear to me pretty quickly where I’m needed. Sometimes guys just need help getting out of their heads. Other times they need to be amped up so they’re ready to fight for a win on the ice. Helping my teammates is what keeps me focused. Tonight, though, I don’t have it inme to be of any help to them. Not when I’m so livid. Not after the text my wife sent, implying that she thinks she’s going to screw other people.

One way or another, I’ll make it clear that the only person she’ll be going near is me, whether it’s by wooing her or pissing her off by enforcing the damn contract.

I think she secretly likes the idea of being bound by me. Of being controlled by me. And god, what I would do to see her as she hurtles over the edge. Witness the way her cheeks flush, how her teeth sink into her lip, how pretty she sounds crying out my name.

It will happen.

Maybe not tonight, but eventually, her orgasms will belong to me. Just like she does.

“Forget it. Go back to your visualizations. I’m fixing it,” I grit out.

With a shake of his head, Brooks turns away from me, likely thinking I’m an idiot.

Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” the Bolts song for this season, blares as we take the ice for warm-ups. Every year Aiden picks a new one, and this one might be my favorite so far.

Normally I keep my focus centered around the game during warm-ups. The adrenaline buzz kicks in, giving me a high that I’ve never been able to replicate. I love this game in a way that most wouldn’t understand. It gave me a purpose during a time when I had none. A family when I’d lost my own. Nothing in my life has ever come close to competing.

Until now.

Tonight, another kind of excitement courses through me. The impending battle off the ice keeps my heart pumping. Finding my wife in this arena is my first priority. I have to confirm that she’s here—even if I had to strong-arm her into coming. Then I can put 100 percent of myself into the game. Later, we can figure our shit out for good.

Pushing off the ice, I propel myself forward. The bite of the cold within the rink only strengthens my resolve. Out here, I’m the captain, the king. And right now, all I want is to find my queen.

If Sara isn’t down in the box with us, then she sits in the stands. Always in the same place. She doesn’t like to be in the owner’s suite with the Langfields because she wants Brooks to hear her screaming like a freaking lunatic. Now that Lennox joins her for home games, their shouts are ridiculously easy to pick out. If I know my girl, she’s with her girls. So Sara’s regular spot is where I look first.

The flash of red catches my attention quickly. Waves of autumn that frame her pretty freckled face. She’s laughing, happy. I dig my feet into the ice and slow to a stop, mesmerized by her.

Though I’m stunned by her, my teammates are still flying across the ice, and Hall barrels into me from the side before he can stop.

“Fuck.” I grunt and catch my balance before I fall, which, for the record, never happens.

As I straighten, catcalls from the stands echo around me.

“Focus, number seven,” Sara calls with a maniacal laugh.

Beside her, Hannah grips my wife by the upper arms and spins her, joining in on the laughter as she points at Ava’s back.

When the sight registers, my blood runs cold.

I push Hall off me with more force than necessary. “What the fuck is my wife doing wearing your jersey?”

All logic leaves me as I glower at the 18 on my wife’s back and those four letters,H-A-L-L, above it. I skate to the edge of the ice and pound on the plexiglass barrier with my stick. “Ava Warren, get over here right now.”

Even with the music blasting, the words carry. I can tell by the way she zeroes in on me.

Tilting to one side a fraction so she can see me beyond the fans filing in and finding their seats, she looks one way, then the other, then points at herself in a teasingwho me?way.

“Go play your game, War,” Lennox yells.

Aiden appears at my side. “Come on, dude. She’s just riling you up.”

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