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“Or is she overly chatty in bed? Because she’s the boss. Do you like gag games? That would be handy.”

Jack’s jaw was about to burst.

“I mean she seems a littlecrazy, but hey, she’s probably uninhibited. I’d probably fuck her anyway.”

Jack saw red.

The blood rushed in his ears and his hands took on a life of their own. He wasn’t sure what was happening…but a second later, one of his gloves was on the ice and Andre Mäkelä was next to it.

A loud whistle sounded. The opposing player groaned as Jack stared at his scraped knuckles with only one thought: So this was what it felt like when you couldn’t control your anger.

Jack was suspended from the game and thrown out of the arena. He wasn’t booed, he wasn’t yelled at by his teammates aboutwhat the hell that was about—everyone was too shocked for that. Including himself.

It had never happened to him before. He had never lost it on the ice, never lost his patience. And suddenly, he understood why Dax was serving so many penalty minutes. It had to be because of Lucy. Because, shit, if the opponents were throwing crap like that at him, how could he hold back?

Jack didn’t give the coach time to lecture him or pay attention to the fans staring at him with their hands over their mouths, he just hurried into the tunnel past Lucy, who gaped at him, and changed his clothes before leaving the arena.

He knew it was wrong. Violence was not the solution. Mäkelä had only wanted to fluster him, strike a nerve, and make him miss the puck.

And boy, it had worked.

Jack hurried to his car, wondering if he should just go home. But then, he slumped down on the ground next to it and pressed his still-burning fist to his forehead.

God, he was such an idiot. He had told Penny to stay away forever!

Why did he do that?

He didn’t want to stay awayforever! He didn’t want to stay away at all. He glanced at his phone a hundred times, thinking about what to do and what to say to her, but no words could sum up what he was feeling. So, he just sat where he was for what seemed like an eternity—until two feet entered his field of vision.

He looked up, straight into his brother’s face.

“Man, you’re a wreck,” Dax said tonelessly.

“I know.”

“Whatdid he say?”

“Does it matter?”

“No! Because you never let yourself get angry. You don’t give a shit about the bullshit the others spout at face-off. So, whathappened? Controlling anger is one of your most impressive qualities!”

He laughed bitterly. “No, it’s not. I’m only half as good at it as you think.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked, irritated.

Jack inhaled deeply, looked thoughtfully at Dax, and finally said, “Dax, can I show you something?”

“What do you want to show me?”

“The reason why I can’t control my anger,” he muttered as he stood and got into his car. To his surprise, Dax followed, sighing. He didn’t ask questions, just looked at him from the side, shaking his head as if he needed time to understand what the hell was happening.

After ten minutes, he finally muttered, “You left quite a mess back there.”

He fought a smile. “Yes.”

Dax nodded. “It had to happen at some point. You’ve suppressed your feelings for too long.”

He laughed dryly. “That’s no excuse.”