Page 3 of Pucking Forbidden

“Yeah. Right.” He shoves me, hatred stamped all over his face. “Guess that’s why she’s talking about leaving me, right? Because she’s so goddamn crazy about me?”

I stare at him, shocked. Horrified. “You showed the team those videos to punish her because she threatened to leave you? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” he snaps. “And if you keep your goddamn mouth shut, you won’t either.”

I grab him by the collar, my blood boiling at his threat, but he yanks out of my hold.

“Silvestri! Peters!” Coach appears at the end of the hall, hands planted on his hips. “Move your asses!”

Jamison takes a step away from me. “Keep your fucking hands off me and what belongs to me, Silvestri,” he says, his voice lethally soft. “Or you will regret it.”

I clench my hands into tight fists, staring after him as he stomps down the hall. He’s lost his mind. If Vanessa’s threatening to leave him, it’s not over me. It’s because he’s turned into this prick lately, someone I don’t even recognize. I’m guessing she sees it too.

I take a deep breath, trying to get my head on straight as I storm down the player tunnel, determined to get through this game. Afterward, I can…what? Christ, what the fuck am I going to do about this?

Tell Vanessa, obviously. She deserves to know. So does management. Jamison is out of control. But Sutton? How the hell am I supposed to tell her that her brother is an predatory jackass? How the fuck do I let him go to jail when it means she’ll be completely alone in the world?

My gaze immediately goes to the stands, searching for her behind our bench. I catch sight of her sitting with Vanessa, their heads bent as they chat back and forth, both smiling. Both innocent. Both proudly wearing Jamison’s name and number.

And both totally oblivious that he’s a fucking monster.

Sutton sees me looking in their direction and raises her hand, waving at me, so fucking happy and carefree. So damn beautiful. And so far out of reach, I don’t think she’ll ever be mine. Not now. Not after this.

My heart clenches, and I snap. There’s no other explanation for it. I just…fucking snap.

Chapter One

Jordan

Five Years Later

“Emilia was right.” Diego Tapia tosses his bag onto the bench in front of his locker with a grimace in the Carvers’ locker room. “This place does smell like sweaty balls.”

I snort softly but don’t bother responding. It’s not like he needs a response anyway. Diego spends a good portion of his time in the net when Logan Moreno isn’t in it. The man is perfectly content talking to himself.

Unfortunately for the rest of us, he’s also perfectly content talking our ears off, too. It’s like he spends all the time he isn’t in the net making up for the time he does spend in it.

“Whoever smelt it, dealt it, bitch.” Joaquin Reed tosses a balled-up towel at him, smirking.

Diego ducks the flying towel, scowling. “Uh, aren’t you the one who refuses to wash that fucking towel because you swear to Satan that it’s your lucky charm?”

“That shit is disgusting, Joaquin,” Micah agrees, his nose scrunched up as he looks at the towel. “Wash the fucking biohazard already.”

“First of all, fuck you. That towel wins us games.” Joaquin flips Micah off, grinning good-naturedly. “Second,” he says, turning to flip Diego off, too. “I don’t swear to Satan. I’m a good Christian boy.”

“Jesus doesn’t want anything to do with that towel, man,” I mutter, tossing my practice jersey into my duffle. “Don’t put that on him.”

Diego and Micah both laugh, but Joaquin turns puppy-dog eyes on me. “Et tu, Silvestri? And I thought we were cool.”

“No one is cool with that nasty-ass towel.”

“Told you!” Diego practically shouts.

I shake my head at him. Diego is…Diego. I think he was born being a pain in the ass. But he’s right about the locker room and that fucking towel. Both reek.

“Wash the goddamn thing already,” I mutter to Joaquin, who pretends not to hear me as he heads for the showers.

“You heading out?” Micah looks up at me as I zip my bag closed.

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