Page 94 of Daddies on Ice
“Can I? Because you seem pretty wound up still.”
“I’m fine.”
I glance at Ash, who’s wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.
There’s something in his expression.
Guilt, maybe, or resignation.
Like he knows he deserves whatever Trent was trying to dish out.
Slowly, I release Trent and step back, ready to grab him again if he makes another move toward Ash.
But instead of going after his original target, Trent spins around and swings at me.
I see it coming and duck, his fist whistling past my ear. “What the hell, Trent?”
“You’re all the same,” he snarls, winding up for another swing. “All of you hockey players think you can just take whatever you want.”
This time when he comes at me, Ash moves too, and we both grab him at the same time.
It’s not that Trent’s particularly strong or skilled, but we’re both trying not to actually hurt him, which makes subduing him more complicated than it should be.
“Stop it!” Tish’s voice cuts through our struggle like a whip crack. “Trent, stop acting like an ass!”
We manage to wrestle him down onto the small couch, which is draped with a festive red and green throw that’s now completely askew.
Trent’s breathing hard, his face still flushed with anger, but he’s stopped trying to throw punches.
“Get off me,” he pants.
Ash and I exchange a look before slowly releasing him.
I stay close, ready to intervene again if necessary, while Ash moves to the other side of the small living room, putting some distance between them.
Tish stands in the middle of the chaos, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
The Christmas tree in the corner has somehow survived the scuffle, its lights still twinkling merrily, but several ornaments have fallen to the floor.
The whole scene feels surreal, like we’re actors in some twisted holiday drama.
“I want an explanation,” Trent demands, pointing an accusatory finger at his sister. “I want to know what the hell is going on here.”
“You don’t deserve an explanation,” Tish fires back, her voice shaking with rage. “You come barging into my cabin, attacking my friends, making a scene in front of the cameras?—”
“Friends?” Trent’s laugh is bitter. “Is that what you call them? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re screwing the entire hockey team.”
The words hang in the air like a toxic cloud. I feel my own temper flare, my hands clenching into fists, but Tish beats me to the punch.
“How dare you,” she whispers, her voice deadly quiet.
“I dare because I’m your brother, and I’m trying to protect you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Protect me?” Tish’s voice rises to a near-shout. “By humiliating me in front of everyone? By starting fights and acting like a complete psychopath?”
I watch the siblings face off, and despite the anger radiating from both of them, I can see the hurt underneath.
Trent’s not just angry, he’s scared.
