Page 89 of Wicked Ends
“Your hand,” Asher said in a tight tone.
Slowly, the red haze faded, and the pain filtered through. I glanced down and saw the cut, long and clean. It sliced up my palm and disappeared under my cuff.Fuck.
The ref was busy pulling people apart, and Coach Williams was screaming from the bench.
The ref glared at me and held his arm up.
“Bailey—expelled.”
Fuck.
The nurse hovered, and a doctor gently stitched up the long gash in my palm. Coach Willams stood at the end of the bed andwatched me with a tight expression. Fuck. I’d messed up, and we both knew it, and yet, I was finding it hard to care right now. My phone was clutched in my other hand, open to the tracking app I used to keep an eye on Ari. She was back at the Night Owl and had sent me a couple of messages asking if I was okay.
“Right, that should do. Don’t get it dirty, take painkillers if you want, and most of all… take care of this hand, Mr. Bailey. The Hellions won’t get anywhere near the finals if you get a more serious injury,” the doctor said disapprovingly.
Everyone in Hade Harbor was a hockey fan. That’s just how it was.
The doctor left, the nurse trailing after him. A dark and brooding figure appeared around the other end of the curtain drawn across my cubicle. His black leather cut and heavy tattoos drew eyes.
Cole glanced between me and Coach, folding his arms over his chest.
“I called your brother,” Coach Williams said. “I was hoping he could talk some sense into you. This is the second game where you’ve put yourself in harm’s way. Protect the goalie, Marcus. You know better than this. When you fight, the entire game stops… your teammates have to put themselves in the line of fire to make sure no one reaches you. It’s not fair.”
I sighed.
“Come on now, I’m sure it wasn’t all Marcus’ fault. That punk Sinclair kid must have said something to him,” Cole surprised me by interjecting. He shot a cool look at Coach. “The Bailey temper can be hard to rouse, but once you achieve it, no one can help you.”
Coach shook his head at me. “What did Brody say?”
I could hardly tell him without outing Ari, so I gave my trademark nonchalant shrug. “Some shit about HHU. What else?”
Coach sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Try not to get into fights with the Sinclair boys… you never know if, or when, you’ll be on the same team one day.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in my hand as I pressed it against the mattress.
Coach Williams shook his head. “Nothing. Get some rest, and I meanrealrest. No skipping practice just because you’ve fucked up your hand. I’ll find something for you to do.” He turned at that, nodded a goodbye at Cole, and left.
“Well, he’s a charmer.” Cole leaned his shoulder against the wall and casually rummaged through the drawer beside my bed.
“So, what really happened? He insulted you?”
I snorted. “Since when would that rile me up?”
Cole nodded. “Exactly, never. So, that means he insulted someone else… one of your Ice God buddies, or their women, your family… or someone else. Someone new.” Cole’s shrewd gaze slid to me. “I hear you brought your teacher for dinner at The Clutch.”
“Oh, do you? I didn’t know Harbor Hounds were such gossips. I guess it’s tea, knitting, and gossip circles over there.”
Cole narrowed his eyes at me, undistracted by my obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Who is she?”
“You already know,” I told him shortly and stood.
Cole eyed me. “Your teacher…”
“She’s an adjunct professor, actually, and so fucking talented—you have no idea.”
Cole studied me. “You like her enough to get kicked off the team for her? I thought you wanted this… hockey.”
