Page 22 of Pucking Unhinged
In a blur of motion, Tristan’s gloves and helmet hit the ice. He lunges, tackling the player hard, both of them crashing to the surface in a violent tangle. The crowd loses its mind, everyone on their feet yelling and cheering, but I can’t move.
Tristan’s fists fly, one after another, ruthless and precise. One punch knocks the guy’s head back so hard that I know he’s out cold. Tristan doesn’t stop. He can’t. His knuckles split open, blood spatters across light blue ice. His chest is heaving with each brutal strike, and I know he’s taking out way more on this guy than his anger for whatever nasty comment he made about me.
It takes two refs and another Castlebrook defenseman to drag him off. Hayden and Callum come to rough stops near the fight, ice spraying in their wake, but they don’t move to stop Tristan as he fights off the refs. They have a little agreement, unless one of them is in actual danger, they let each other do whatever they need to do. Even if that means killing an opposing player in public.
Tristan’s full lips are cut from the one hit he took in return, blood smearing across his mouth. His eyes are wild, blazing, fixed on me as he smiles bigger than I think I’ve seen in years. He looks at me like he wants me to know all of that, every single punch, was for me.
He looks psychotic.
He looks like he loves me.
And then Tristan’s chin jerks toward the tunnel. A wordless order for me to walk down the hallway that leads to the locker room and wait for him.
Coach Kav is already in his face, reaming him out, spitting rage, but Tristan doesn’t seem to hear him. He doesn’t look away from me.
Then his back is to me, stalking off the ice.
My legs move before I can think. I’m out of my seat, ignoring Madi’s sharp intake of breath, ignoring the way Lilac calls my name.
Because when Tristan wants me where he is…
I go.
We’re alone in the locker room, and my hands are steady as I wrap the bandage around Tristan’s knuckles, but I can feel his stare burning into my skin.
He doesn’t look away. Not once.
My chest tightens, my face heating, and when I finally glance up, the flush creeps higher. I drop my gaze quickly, back to his ruined hands because this is where I hide. I care for him, try to help him, but I’m just as bad as he is about expressing my feelings.
But he won't let me do it this time.
Tristan’s palm comes up, rough and warm against my cheek, fingers curling into my skin as he tilts my face to his.
“Don’t look away from me,” he grinds out, voice so ragged, every word scraping against my ribs. His breath ghosts across my mouth, and my stomach flips so violently I have to bite back a sound. “Don’t do that to me.”
I swallow hard, trying to breathe past the ache in my throat. “What was going on with you out there? Before that asshole started in on you, something was off. I could see it. I cansenseit, Tristan.”
His jaw tightens, his thumb dragging slow along my jawline, like he’s stalling, like he doesn’t want to let the words out.
“I talked to my father today,” he says finally. The way he saysfathermakes my insides twist. “He’s pushing for us to go to that little meet up.”
My chest goes tight. “What are you thinking? You’re not annoyed, you’re suspicious.”
His brows furrow, his eyes still locked on mine like he’s willing me to understand without him having to say it. “He’s up to something. I haven’t figured out what yet, but I want to go. I need to find out.”
I nod once, certain. “Then we’ll go.”
His mouth pulls tight. “It’s always bothered me how he acted after the carjacking. After Mom’s death. And now this… it’s just more reason. He forbade me from looking for the guy who escaped that night.” His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking. “Not that I listened.”
Everything feels really heavy and intense right now. My voice is quiet when I point out, “He was hurt that night…”
Tristan drags a hand through his dark hair, the motion nothing but sharp irritation. “I know. I could be wrong, Winter. But him pushing us to come there just like he pushed us to go on that trip when we were carjacked…it’s giving me a weird vibe.”
I don’t hesitate. “I trust you.”
Something flickers in his eyes. He pulls me gently to stand in front of him, the bench creaking under his weight as he straightens to stand at full height. His bandaged hand slides over the top of my head, slow, deliberate, trailing down the length of my braid.
“I know you do, baby.”
