Page 94 of Cheap Shot
“Aww. That hurts. I thought we were a family, Hendrix. You know, bled for each other and all that bullshit.”
“You bled for your own ego.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Jensen leans closer, breath sour with coffee and bitterness. “Because I ‘crossed a line.’ That it? Or is it 'cause you’re shacking up with the coach’s daughter and need me out of the way?”
My nostrils flare as the world around me blurs, my vision narrowing down to just Jensen—his smirk, his voice, the acidic hiss of each word slithering into my ears.
“Don’t go anywhere near her, Jensen. I warned you,” I growl, the words falling out like iron weights.
Jensen’s grin widens. “Why not? You clearly don’t mind mixing business with pleasure.”
I glide close enough to feel the heat of his skin. A distorted thrumming fills my ears that slowly changes into a low roar. My fist curls around my stick, itching to do some damage to anything. Everything in me wants to lash out, to break something, to break someone. But I don’t, because if I do, I won’t be able to stop.
“You need to walk away,” I say, my voice deadly calm, leaving no room for argument.
“Tell me how long you think you can hide it. The guys have been talking, and Coach isn’t blind. It's only a matter of time before he notices the way she looks at you. You think he won’t kill your contract if he finds out you’ve been?—”
A whistle splits the air, sharp and piercing. Assistant coaches and security guards surge onto the ice, boots thudding over hard rubber. One of them barks Jensen’s name, loud enough to echo, snapping the spell.
Jensen leans back with a lazy shrug, tapping my shin pads with his stick like they were old friends before skating away, tossing Marcus a wink as he passes.
Security meets him at the blue line, but I don’t move, choosing to stay rooted at center ice, sweat chilling along my spine as my blood is molten lava beneath my skin. All my senses feel like they are in overdrive. The edge of my vision buzzes. Every sound is too sharp, blades cutting the ice too loud, and the lights are too white.
“You gonna hit him next time?” Sammy bumps my shoulder, motioning toward where Jensen disappeared into the tunnel.
“Thinking about it.”
“Well… he smells like old socks,” Marcus mutters, coming to a stop between Sammy and me. “Just saying.”
I tap his helmet with the knuckles on my free hand before pushing off toward the next drill. My skates dig into the ice, anchoring me in place, as my lungs drag in the air like it hurts to breathe.
The drugs keep me calm, but the fire burning in my veins underneath? That is all me.
* * *
The hallway behind the rink is cold and dim, buzzing with the low flicker of overhead fluorescents. The place where sound echoes in your skull. My skates clack too loudly on the concrete, the toe guards dragging. Sweat slides down my spine beneath the pads. Everything feels tight. Wrong. Like my skin’s shrinking by the second. I know I shouldn’t be here, but the look in her eyes drew me closer. Michele was terrified at seeing Jensen on the ice, but I’m not sure whether it was for him or me.
I throw my helmet against the wall before I even see her. It hits with a sharp crack, louder than it should be, and my hands are already shaking. I press my palms to my thighs and try to breathe, but my lungs feel like they’re shrinking in my chest.
Everything feels like too much. Too loud. Too white. Too painful. I want to crawl out of my skin.
The edge I’ve been riding since before warmups is fraying fast. The pill—just one—did its job for a while. I could think straight, move without panic clenching my gut. But now the calm feels like a lie. My muscles twitch, and my vision swims for half a second before snapping back into focus with a vengeance. Everything’s sharp. Too sharp. It all feels like I’m spiraling out of control, until I see Michele.
She’s standing just beyond the doorway near the training room, framed in shadow and fluorescent light. She doesn’t speak right away. Just watches me with those wide, steady eyes. Michele is still in her Timberwolves polo and joggers, her dark waves pulled into a bun that's falling apart. Her cheeks are flushed, and the soft lines of her hips and thighs fill out her clothes in a way that always makes something in me clench. She’s all softness and strength. And right now, she’s looking at me like she’s not sure which part of me is going to snap next.
“Hey. You okay?” she asks gently, stepping closer.
My laugh is too sharp. Too dry. “Peachy.”
“Cole.”
“I said I’m fine.” The words come out hard, punched through clenched teeth. My voice comes out sharper than I mean. It bounces off the walls. Pure fear flashes in her eyes for just a second, but it lands like a punch in my gut. I’ve scared her. Not much, but enough. Enough for shame to crawl down the back of my neck like a sweat that won’t dry.
She doesn’t step back. Of course, she doesn’t. Michele never backs away. “I saw what happened out there.”
I scoff, turning toward the window. “Yeah? You saw him running his fucking mouth again. Did you see how everyone just stood there to watch the show, waiting for me to lose my cool?”
“You kept your cool.”
