“Touchy.” He scrolls through his messages, and I can see the conversation—her asking how practice went, him sending back some bullshit flirty response. “She texted me this morning. Asked if we were ready for Friday.”
“I said shut it.”
“You’re not the only one she’s texting, mate.” He looks up, meeting my eyes. “Just so we’re clear.”
Something in me snaps.
I’m across the space between us before rational thought can intervene, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him backagainst his locker. The metal reverberates with the impact, and suddenly the whole room is watching.
“I said shut the fuck up,” I growl, my face inches from his.
Atticus doesn’t look scared. Doesn’t even look surprised. Just grins that infuriating British grin. “There it is. The jealousy you keep trying to hide.”
I shove him. “I’m not jealous.”
“No?” He pushes back, breaking my grip, and suddenly we’re chest to chest. “Because you look pretty fucking jealous to me.”
“Maybe I’m just sick of your mouth.”
“Maybe you’re sick of knowing that Koa is fucking her and you’re not.”
The words hit because he’s right. I’ve never been good at sharing—not toys as a kid, not hockey, not anything that matters. And Lexi matters in a way that makes me want to lock her away where no one else can touch her.
But she’s not mine to lock away.
She’s not anybody’s.
And that reality is eating me alive.
“At least I’m honest about it,” Atticus continues, voice dropping lower so the team can’t hear. “I want her. You want her. Koa wants her. But I’m not pretending it’s about anything other than want.”
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re telling yourself pretty little lies.” He shoves me, hard enough that I stumble back a step. “Acting like you’re above it, like you’re protecting her or some noble shit. But really you just want to own her like Vincent tried to own everything.”
The comparison to my father is the final straw.
I swing.
My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He staggers but doesn’t go down, and when he looks back at me there’s blood on his lip and fire in his eyes.
“There it is,” he says, then launches himself at me.
We crash into the lockers, helmet falling from somewhere and shattering on the concrete floor. My knuckles split open against his cheekbone. His elbow catches my ribs, the same ones that are still healing from the warehouse. Pain explodes through my side, but I don’t stop, can’t stop.
This isn’t about Lexi anymore. It’s about everything—Vincent’s control, Gilbert’s manipulation, Koa’s betrayal, the constant fucking pressure of trying to be better than the violence that made me.
Atticus gets me in a headlock, and we go down, hitting the floor hard. I drive my elbow back into his kidney and he grunts but doesn’t release. Someone’s shouting, but it’s white noise.
“You done?” Atticus pants in my ear.
“Fuck you.”
“Okay.”
The locker room door slams open with enough force to crack the wall. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?”
Coach’s voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.
