Page 148 of Redeeming the Villain

Her POTS has flared up, the episode lasting over the last few days. I’ve done everything I can to make it easier for her, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

She lost her dad—and trust me, I know that he deserves exactly what he got. But that doesn’t take away the ache in my heart when I see her in pain.

It’s such a confusing feeling—holding her as she mourns her dad while I feel peace, watching my brother finally get justice.

There’s still a lot to be worked out. Like my uncle and everything he did. But the agents assured us that he would be held accountable for his role. Now it’s just a waiting game for the both of them.

It’s complicated and murky. Although I wouldn’t expect anything less from this situation. Everything about us has been complicated. But I don’t care.

She’s my life now, the most important part of my existence. Nothing will change that. She’s who I look for in the stands of my games, the home that my heart has found solace in.

Thankfully, Alora’s been feeling better today, and I don’t have to play this game without her in the stands, next to Blair.

Glancing into the crowd, my eyes land on her immediately as we take the ice and skate around for a brief second before setting up for the start of the third period.

Lifting her hand, she blows me a kiss, and my heart fucking jumps out of my chest to catch it.

“Are you done eye-fucking your girlfriend yet?” Asher skates up beside me and smacks the back of my helmet with his hand, laughing.

Jabbing the top of my stick into his side, I scoff. “Why don’t you try to make me stop?”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, tough guy. Do you want to win tonight?”

Smirking, I skate around Asher. “Oh, baby, we’re going to win. Don’t doubt that.”

“Awfully confident for someone leading by one,” number eighty on the Gargoyles chimes into our conversation as our starting line sets up at center ice.

“Awfully confident for someone I knocked out last season,” I mutter, locking eyes with him as we stare one another down, bracing for the face-off.

I win the battle, dishing the puck back to Asher. He flicks it forward, sniping the pass to the end of Elias’s stick. Elias bursts into the zone, only one defender between him and the goalie.

Flying up on his left side, he drop-passes the puck to me. Winding up, I slap the puck with my stick, and it soars through the air.

It knocks the goalie’s water bottle out of place as I add another goal to the board. The Legends raise their sticks in the air, and everyone races toward me in celebration.

“Fuck yeah!” I shout as they swarm me, my back hitting the board.

Breaking away from the group, I skate toward our bench, making sure that I gain enough speed to catch up to number eighty, who’s heading to his own.

“Two now, huh?” I chirp.

Smirking, he challenges back, “Two goals is the worst lead in hockey.”

“Don’t worry, bud; we’ll make sure to up that number to make you feel more at peace with your loss.”

Turning away from him, I bump gloves with my teammates, hollering into the arena as adrenaline courses through my veins.

The next eight minutes go by without another goal or even a penalty. Somehow, they’ve managed to hold us off. But we’ve done the same. The score is still two to zero.

But I can feel it in the air—that the tension is building up and something is bound to snap it.

The final guy of the last shift switches with Asher at the perfect time, completing our line. Dean steals the puck from number eighty, checking him into the boards as he does it.

Asher shouts to him, slapping his stick on the ice as he races into the neutral zone, “D!”

Dean passes the puck, whipping it down half the rink, right onto Asher’s stick. Flying down the left side of the ice, one of their guys lines him up to smear him into the glass, and I dig my skates into the ice even harder.

He explodes into Asher, throwing him two feet into the wall, and his head collides with the boards. He’s going to fucking pay for that.

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