Coach Kavanagh’s already grumbling before we’re even halfway through warm-ups. “You move like geriatrics in a blizzard! Christ, get your legs under you!”
Hayden smirks beside me. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the fucking bed.”
Tristan skates past and mutters, “He’s always like this after a loss.”
“He’s like this after a win. Or a nap,” I add, dodging the puck one of our teammates slaps across the ice.
We circle back into a drill, and I can feel the edge of Hayden’s glare.
“I forgot I’m mad at you because you proposed on the same day I proposed to Madi,” Hayden says, flicking a puck directly at my chest.
“Didn’t realize you had the monopoly on dramatic gestures,” I fire back, hip checking him before I sober my face, trying to convey that what I’m about to say isn’t a joke. “Lilac’s parents are still trying to force her to marry that dipshit, Vincent,” I add.
Tristan shakes his head. “Why don’t you just skip to the end of all the bullshit and elope? That’ll get them off your back.”
I snort. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Hayden shoots me a look, but he must realize that I don’t wanna get into it because he asks, “What’s all this bullshit about people getting killed on campus? They had that figure skater hauled out of here and hushed up so quickly. Literally, no one is talking about it.”
I shrug. “I’ve got Ramsey looking into it. I have some connections to the Moretti family. They have their hands in every fucking thing. No one’s heard anything solid yet.”
Tristan huffs. “Well, we had like one week without someone trying to kill us, so I guess we’re back on schedule.”
Coach blows the whistle. “Vale! That’s three goals in a row you’ve missed. It’s like you don’t want to be here.”
Tristan doesn’t even blink. “Very observant of you.” He flicks his hand dismissively, and I see the look of surprise on Coach’s face. His mouth hangs open before he throws his clipboard and blows his whistle. We’re desensitized to it though, so no one even plays attention to the high-pitched noise.
After another round of passes, I skate up beside Tristan, panting. “You look like shit. Are you not sleeping again?” I’ve been so wrapped up with my girl that I haven’t really been present in the house like I usually am.
He glares at me but doesn’t answer.
Hayden huffs and shoots a puck into the glass. “Why don’t you just let Winter sleep in your room? It’s the only thing that helps you, and you’ve already?—”
Tristan throws his gloves off and slams Hayden against the plexiglass, gripping his jersey.
“Don’t fucking talk about her,” he snarls. “Or what I was forced to do to her.”
Hayden shoves him back, but he doesn’t hit him. His jaw is tight, but his hands stay low. He’s holding back.
I step between them, shoving a hand on each of their chests.
“Hey. Enough,” I bark. “She wants to help you. Fucking let her, man. It’s killing her watching you walk around like this. You don’t have to fuck her if you don’t want to, and youdowant to. I don’t care what bullshit you spew. Just let her sleep in your room instead of making her wrestle you in the middle of a night terror.”
Tristan shoves away from us, storming off the ice.
Hayden calls after him. “Think about it. You’re gonna hurt her one of these times, and you won’t be able to take it back.”
Tristan doesn’t turn around. He ignores our coach yelling for him to get back in front of the net and disappears into the locker room.
I exhale hard.
“Dramatic children,” Coach mutters. “All of you.”
After practice, I peel off my gear and grab my phone.
One unread message from Lilac.
Dear future husband, you should’ve let me shower this morning. Sincerely, wet panties are uncomfortable.
