Page 9 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I’ve taken out their star winger twice, and I’m not even sorry about it. Asshole had it coming for the way he slashed Killian in the first period. If Coach wants to bench me, he can try.

Caleb would’ve hated what you’ve become.

We’re up by one in the third with the clock winding down and my body is running on pure adrenaline. Every hit, every check, every goddamn second feels like a shot to the veins and I’m wired as fuck.

Killian’s at the faceoff, his blond hair peeking out under his helmet. He wins it clean, snapping the puck to Thorn, who flicks it to me without hesitation. The rush is instinctive. I weave through their defenders like they’re not even there. The boards rattle as someone tries to check me, but I shrug it off, my focus locked on the goal.

Kill’s waiting for me, and I send the puck flying his way. He doesn’t miss. He never does. The red light flashes, the crowd roars, and Killian skates past me, smirking like the cocky bastard he is.

“Easy money,” he says as he bumps my shoulder and I can’t stop the grin that splits my face.

Caleb would’ve hated what you’ve become.

We win 5-3, but I know what’s coming when we head to the locker room. Coach’s face is red as hell; the vein in his forehead popping as he looks straight at me.

“Bishop!” he barks, his voice cutting through the post-game chatter. The room goes silent and everyone turns to watch, knowing I’m about to get my ass handed to me. “What the fuck was that out there?!”

I shrug and run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “We won, didn’t we?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” he snaps. “You racked up more fucking penalties than the entire team combined! Boarding, tripping, slashing—hell, I even think the refs were making shit up by the end just to keep up with you!”

I lean back against my stall, crossing my arms. “It’s hockey, Coach. It’s a contact sport.”

“It’s not a sport if you’re in the sin bin half the fucking time!”

Killian steps in, trying to calm the situation down. “Coach, Roman just—”

“Shut it, King. I’m not done,” he growls, pointing a finger at Killian and I watch as a vein throbs at the side of my best friend’s neck. Killian hates it when someone points at him and if Coach doesn’t back the fuck up, he’ll have a broken wrist before he’s done with this tirade.

But then Coach turns back to me. “You think you’re untouchable, Bishop? Think I won’t bench your ass?”

“You’re not benching me,” I say, meeting his glare dead on.

His eyes narrow. “And why is that?”

“Because no one else on this team can do what I do,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “No one else plays as well with King and Knight, and you fucking know it.”

The room is so quiet, you could hear a fucking puck drop. Coach stares at me, his anger barely contained and he actually looks like he’s about to swing at me. But he doesn’t because he knows I’m right.

I’m not just being arrogant for the hell of it. Everybody knows Killian and I are unbeatable as a unit. Add Thorn to that, and we’re fucking unstoppable. He benches me, he can kiss the championship goodbye before we’ve even started the season.

“You’re a cocky little shit, you know that,” he says finally. “But you’re right. For now.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Play like that again, and I won’t care how well you play with King. Your ass will be warming the bench for the rest of the season. Got it?”

“Got it,” I reply, and he steps back.

Coach mutters something under his breath and turns to face the locker room. “Good game. Now get the hell out of here and don’t let me see your ugly faces until Monday!”

The room erupts into motion as soon as Coach walks out—guys ribbing each other and laughing to ease the tension. Killian drops onto the bench next to me, removing his gloves.

“You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?”

“Always,” I say with a grin, tossing my shit into my bag.

“You’re lucky he didn’t pull you out mid-game.”

“Like he would’ve,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’d be fucked without me.”

---