Page 291 of Wrong Pucking Player

No. The idea of him losing everything he’s hustled for is what provoked his blinded anger, and now we have a dead hockey player on the ice.

There’s only one shockwave left before they’ll call it off, and I don’t know if I can handle seeing Harvey actually perish here and now.

Seeing a stranger die before my eyes set a different notion in my mind. I could disassociate myself from them and know they got what they deserved to face the consequences that stole their life.

This, however, is completely different.

Harvey doesn’t deserve to end this way, leaving me to press my hands together, close my eyes, and quietly wish to the man above to spare Ace from the hands of death.

The sound of the third shock goes off, and there’s that single gasp that everyone catches.

As if time has started up again after being frozen during those three shockwaves, paramedics rush onto the ice, securing his body alignment to prevent further injury.

Or even triggering paralysis.

From the severity and uncertainty of his head and back injuries, it’s clear they’re going to airlift him to a special hospital that tackles sports injuries like these in a swift manner to prevent permanent injury.

“You son of a bitch!” the somewhat quiet declaration is all but loud when the only noise is being made by the paramedics.

All eyes move to see Wolfgang. I’m sure he’s ready to discard his hockey stick and everything else if it means he can punch the living daylight out of Winchester.

“YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT? BECAUSE YOU LOST?!” Wolfgang screams at the top of his lungs.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU GAY PIECE OF SHIT!”

Wolfgang flinches at those words while the rest of us watch the madness unfold like a movie and are so flabbergasted by the scene, we can’t even make a sound.

Jayce, however, is skating toward Wolfgang, as if the boundary stopping him from getting to his prime target is finally out of the way.

It’s hard to pull my eyes away, but those bright red locks tug my attention before my heart suddenly races like a beating drum.

Shit. Mikayla!

I don’t want her to interfere in this madness between two riled-up men who are running off high emotions and adrenaline, but my bestie is already between them, her hands going up like she’s making a wall that would snap Jayce out of his feral madness.

“MIKAYLA!” Maddox and Coach Johnson scream, but here comes the shivering goosebumps that rush down my body as I feel a sense of déjà vu after experiencing this same feeling only minutes earlier.

No. No. No.

“JAYC—” Mikayla barely gets his name out, but it’s far too late to stop what’s about to transpire before all our eyes.

With a lift of his arm, he’s retracting it back, ready to punch the target it’s destined for.

Only he’s not about to punch Wolfgang Augustus.

He’s about to punch their team nurse.

Mikayla Cross Johnson.

I don’t realize I’m on the ice until I’m skating to a stop as I watch my best friend drop to the ice as if her soul was literally snatched from her body.

That eerie silence returns until it finally registers in my mind and ignites a scream from my throat.

“MIKAYLA!”

In seconds, I’m at her side, watching as the stream of blood running from her nose is like an open faucet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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