Page 111 of Pretty When He Bleeds

She turns to me, her expression soft. “And you, Roman… take care of my son, okay?”

I meet her gaze, my throat tight. “Always.”

She leans down, pressing a kiss to Damon’s forehead before hugging me. “I love you both,” she whispers.

Damon doesn’t say anything, but he holds onto her for a second longer before letting go. When she finally leaves, there’s a lingering silence in the apartment. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “That drained my social battery for the next week.”

I nod, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah.”

He glances at me, then smirks. “You nearly cried when she hugged you, didn’t you?”

I scoff. “Fuck off, Ward.”

He laughs and something eases in my chest.

Yeah.

Tonight was good.

Damon

Ineverunderstoodtheappeal of hockey.

Sure, I knew the basics—big guys with sticks trying to slam a puck into a net while also trying to slam each other into the boards—but I never really got it. The rules never interested me, the chaos of it all just seemed unnecessary, and I had zero patience for the way people treated it like a fucking religion.

But now, sitting here in the stands, watching Roman Bishop step onto the ice, I get it. I fucking get it.

The energy in the arena is electric, the crowd roaring as the teams take their places. Roman skates effortlessly, his posture easy, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the sharp focus in his eyes. He looks locked in, ready to fucking destroy someone if they get in his way.

Next to me, my mom is practically bouncing in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the railing in front of us. “Oh, he looks so good out there!” she gushes, her voice full of pride, and for a second, I swear she forgets that Roman isn’t actually her kid.

I huff out a quiet laugh, watching as Roman does a fast lap before meeting up with Killian and Thorn at center ice. They exchange a few words, and whatever they say must be fucked up because they all grin like they’ve got a hit list and they’re about to cross some names off.

I’ve never seen Roman like this.

The Roman I know is a cocky little shit with a sharp mouth and no filter, always ready to start something just to see if I’ll finish it. He’s reckless and stubborn, impossible and addictive. But this? This is different.

On the ice, he looks lethal.

The game starts, and from the second the puck drops, my eyes are on him. He moves with a kind of intensity that makes it impossible to look away, weaving through defenders like they aren’t even there. He’s not just playing—he’s fucking commanding the ice, and everyone else is just trying to keep up.

It’s not just skill, it’s domination, pure and fucking simple. He and Killian are like twin devils out there, weaving between players, taking hits like they don’t even feel them, and throwing their weight around like they were made for this.

And Thorn? Jesus Christ. The three of them together are terrifying. It’s controlled chaos, but the control? That’s what makes it deadly. Roman’s fast and unpredictable, his skates carving sharp lines into the ice as he dodges a check so smoothly that the guy almost falls flat on his ass.

I smirk, leaning forward slightly.

My boy is good.

The first goal happens so fast that I almost miss it. Killian sends a perfect pass across the ice, and Roman takes the shot like he already knows exactly where it’s going to land. The puck hits the back of the net with a sharp clang, and the crowd explodes.

I don’t even hear myself yell, but my mom does, because she laughs beside me, nudging my arm. “You’re so gone for him.”

I glare at her, my ears hot. “Shut up.”

She just smirks and turns back to the game.

Roman takes a nasty hit in the second period, slamming into the boards so hard I feel it in my chest. I’m on my feet before I can think, fists clenched, teeth gritted as I watch him shake it off, rolling his shoulders and skating away like nothing happened.

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