Page 164 of Twisted Play
By the time Eva had disengaged, Coach was striding to the center of the room. “Everybody, listen up,” he said, catching our attention.
Eva ignored the fact that he was about to speak to us and walked up to him, stopping with her hands on her hips, as if waiting for him to say something.
He didn’t.
Eva nodded once, sharply, as if their silent exchange were an agreement. “I quit.” She peeled off her team sweatshirt, dropped it on the floor at Coach’s feet, then strode out of the room.
Cole stood, as if to chase after her, but Coach held up his hand. “Now that the morning’s drama is finished, I expect you all dressed and on the ice to warm up in five minutes.”
The room remained frozen.
“Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds,” he said, and the rest of the team sprang into motion.
“I’m going after her,” I said, standing to chase her, but Haruto blocked my path.
“I don’t know what the fuck you did to her, but you’re done.”
I tried to shove my way through, but Massi blocked me too. “Leave her alone,” he snarled. “She deserves better.”
Yeah.
She did.
62
ALEKSANDR
The team clomped backinto the locker room, their pregame warm-ups concluded, silent rather than raucously enthusiastic, the tension thick enough to choke. Haruto wouldn’t look at Cole or Tristan, and Massi’s jaw ticked with anger.
I stood in the center of the locker room, commanding their attention through sheer force of will. “Starting lineup,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. “Cole, center. Haruto, in goal. Massi and Tristan on offense, with Rami and Viktor on defense.”
The first shift told me everything. Cole and Tristan hit the ice with Massi’s line, but when the Hawks’ defense trapped Cole against the boards, Massi skated wide instead of providing support. The cross-check that followed sent Cole sprawling, blood streaming from his nose.
Thirty seconds later, during line change, Rami called for the puck then sent a pass toward Tristan. The Hawks’ center was on him before he could protect himself. The sound of Tristan’s shoulder hitting plexiglass echoed through the arena.
When Tristan crumpled, Cole started toward the opposing player, old instincts kicking in. But he caught himself, understanding dawned in his eyes as Rami deliberately turned away. They’d take their punishment without fighting back.
My knee throbbed as I stood, every line change an exercise in dread. The team had turned their standard rotations into an instrument of punishment—a missed block here, a dangerous pass there.
Some players hesitated—I saw it in their eyes, the briefest flash of doubt before making those small, calculated mistakes that left their former friends vulnerable—but they did it anyway. For Eva.
Sweet, desperate Eva, who’d dropped to her knees for me, who’d come to me because submission quieted her mind, unaware she was the instrument of my revenge.
She’d betrayed me—betrayed the whole team. And in turn, I’d betrayed everything I’d spent the last sixteen years building.
And for what?
“Fourth line,” I barked, trying to give Cole and Tristan longer rest between shifts. Professional duty demanded I protect my players. The darkness in my soul whispered they deserved every hit, and so did I.
By first intermission, Cole’s jersey was streaked with blood from his split lip, and Tristan was rotating his shoulder between grimaces. I followed them into the locker room, professional duties warring with personal guilt.
“What the fuck is wrong with you all?” I snarled at the team. “We’re trying to win a fucking game here.”
Haruto met my eyes, his normally cheerful expression cold. “Are we?” His gaze swept over to Cole and Tristan. “Remember what I told you about treating her right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning away.
The second period was worse. Each time Cole or Tristan hit the ice, the team’s protection vanished. Little betrayals added up to brutal punishment.
Once, when Cole took a particularly vicious hit, Tristan managed to get between him and a follow-up check. They protected each other, even if no one else would.
