Page 44 of The Players We Hate
Rowdy chuckled as he finally turned away. “You want to micromanage someone? Go boss around your campaign manager.”
With that, we headed toward the rink, our steps falling into sync.
“You good?” Rowdy asked under his breath once we were out of earshot.
“Yeah,” I gritted out, though my pulse was still hammering.
“You sure?” Rowdy chuckled. “Because at this point, I’m starting to wonder if he’s the one who’s got a crush on you.”
Despite everything, I cracked a grin.
“He’s lucky I didn’t knock his teeth down his throat.”
Rowdy laughed. “Let me know next time. I’ll record it for the team group chat.”
And just like that, the fury in my chest simmered down. It didn’t fade, though.
Because Wells had made it clear. He wasn’t looking to protect his sister. He was trying to control her.
And the next time he came at me like that?
I wouldn’t be holding back.
***
The locker room was loud, the air heavy with sweat and tape. Pads and helmets knocked together, rap rattled out of a speaker in the corner, and the hiss of skates being sharpened cut through it all. I blocked it out.
I sat in front of my locker, elbows on my knees, gripping my phone. My thumb stalled over the screen before I forced myself to type.
Me: You coming tonight?
Me: Wait for me after. I want to talk to you.
I stared at it for a beat, then hit Send.
The second the words left my mouth, the pressure in my chest didn’t ease. It just got heavier, sitting hard against my sternum.
Because not only did I want her there to see me play, but I also needed her there.
Even if the words came out wrong, she needed to know about what went down with Wells.
The guys were already halfway suited up. I bent over my skates, lacing them with muscle memory, my head nowhere near the locker room. I was still on that sidewalk with Wells. Still in my truck with Wren curled against me, whispering she wanted to give me everything.
Rowdy plopped down beside me on the bench, cracking a stick of gum like we weren’t minutes away from one of the biggest games of the season.
“You get that out of your system?” he asked, elbowing me.
“If by ‘that,’ you mean Perry’s smug face? Not even close.”
He smirked. “Good. Save it for the ice. Don’t waste it now.”
“Rowdy—”
“Relax,” he cut in with a wink, shoving his mouth guard in. “I meant metaphorically. Mostly.”
I shook my head, but my lips twitched.
The tension in my shoulders didn’t budge until my phone buzzed in my hand.
