Page 106 of Sticks & Serpents

I could almost hear her thoughts—why can’t he control himself? Why does he keep getting into trouble?

But how could they understand? They weren’t me. They didn’t know what it felt like to have everything unraveling at your fingertips while still being expected to play nice.

I barely noticed when we reached the bench. My coach exploded with frustration, waving his arms wildly as he demanded an explanation for my actions. All I could think about was how this might ruin everything—my reputation, my future on this team, maybe even my season altogether.

And deep down? A part of me reveled in it.

I bypassed him and headed straight for the locker room. I made my bed. Now, I had every intention of lying in it.

Chapter31

Holly

The crowd was a chaotic symphony of screams, whistles, and clattering skates echoing against the ice. But all I could see was Damien.

He stood in the center of the rink, gloves discarded, fists pounding relentlessly into the opposing player. Each hit landed with a sickening thud, a visceral reminder of the rage that fueled him. Blood streaked the ice, vibrant against the white canvas, but Damien didn’t care. He continued to unleash his fury, over and over again, each blow more brutal than the last.

My stomach twisted as I watched. This wasn’t just a fight; it was a meltdown—a complete destruction of everything he had been trying to build. The other player had stopped fighting back entirely, crumpled on the ice like a rag doll. Yet Damien showed no signs of slowing down. He moved with an intensity I had never seen before, lost in whatever dark place had taken hold of him.

“Damien!” I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the chaos. The refs were frantically blowing their whistles, trying to regain control of the situation, but it felt futile against Damien's rage.

I could feel panic rising within me as I stepped closer to the glass barrier separating us from that hellish scene. My heart pounded violently in my chest; I wanted to reach through and pull him away from this destruction.

The image of his fists crashing down again and again seared into my mind—this wasn’t just physical pain he was inflicting; it felt like he was trying to obliterate something deeper within himself too.

“Stop!” I yelled again, desperation creeping into my voice. But he didn’t hear me—didn’t even look up. All that mattered was the release coursing through him, fueling his every strike.

Each moment stretched into eternity as I stood there helplessly watching Damien unravel before me.

I pressed my hands against the glass, screaming, “Damien, stop!” The words tore from my throat, raw and desperate. But he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. It was as if he was lost in a world where nothing else mattered except for the chaos consuming him.

The refs finally intervened, rushing in with authority. They wrapped their arms around him, pulling him away from the crumpled figure on the ice. I felt a moment of relief wash over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by dread as I saw Damien’s chest heaving, his face twisted with fury.

His hands were covered in blood—crimson splatters painting his knuckles like a gruesome trophy. The sight turned my stomach. My pulse thundered in my ears as I took a step back from the glass, feeling faint. This was bad. Oh God, this was so fucking bad.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. The way his jaw clenched and teeth ground together told me everything I needed to know; he was spiraling further into darkness. There was a cruel edge to his mouth—a smirk that felt wrong amidst the violence.

“Damien!” I shouted again, but it fell flat against the din of the crowd's shock and excitement. They were on their feet now, some cheering for the fight while others screamed at the refs to regain control.

My breath quickened as he finally turned to look at me. Those stormy blue eyes held a wild intensity that sent chills down my spine; it felt like they were searching for something—or someone—to lash out at next.

Don’t you see what you’re doing?I thought desperately. But he didn’t seem to understand how much danger he was putting himself in—not just physically but emotionally too.

As the officials dragged him away from the ice, a knot tightened in my chest. All I could think about was reaching out to him, but what would I say? Would he even listen?

I turned, scanning the crowd around me for someone—anyone—who could help. The crowd was a sea of faces, excitement and horror blending into a blur. My heart raced as I searched for a familiar figure, desperate for support in this moment of insanity.

And there he was—Cooper. He moved with purpose, heading straight down toward the rink, determination etched into his features. Relief flooded through me at the sight of him. Maybe he could reach Damien before it was too late.

As I stood there, my breath hitching in my throat, I watched him being dragged off the ice by the refs. His body stiffened as they pulled him away from the scene of his rage. But then he turned, and suddenly our eyes locked.

In that instant, everything else faded away. The noise of the crowd vanished; it felt like we were suspended in time. I saw it—the shift on his face. For just one fleeting second, something broke through the storm in his gaze.

He saw me.

He saw what he had done—not just to that guy on the ice but to himself. The fury that had consumed him melted away, replaced by something softer yet heavier—a flicker of fear. It was as if he recognized how wrecked I looked, how this all felt like an unending nightmare.

For a moment, Damien’s arrogance cracked, revealing a vulnerability that left me breathless. The anger faded from his features; all that remained was confusion and dread swirling within those stormy blue eyes.

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