Page 81 of Damaged Prince
“You’re fucking weird.” Tucker scoffs, throwing a glove at Brandon. “How about you, Owen? Have you ever tapped that? Not gonna lie, bro, she’s pretty fucking hot.”
“Fuck off.” I snap, spinning to glare at him. “Leave Delaney out of your fucking mouth.”
Tucker just grins wide. “I’d much rather have her in my mouth, that sweet little pussy soaking my tongue."
I’m over to him in a flash, my fist connecting with his face. The sound of my skin hitting his fills the room as his head snaps to the side.
“What the fuck!” Tucker roars, blood gushing from his nose as his hand flies up to cup it.
Grabbing him by the jersey, I yank him forward, getting in his face. “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.” I seethe, nostrils flaring as any remaining control I had starts to snap. “If you talk about her like that again, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Relax, man,” Brandon says, trying to pry me off our teammate. “We were just joking around.”
“Well fucking don’t.” I shove Tucker off, who curses, storming over to the sink. “All of you, leave my brothers alone. It doesn’t matter who the fuck they’re dating. And leave Delaney out of your mouths. If I find out anyone is fucking with her, you’re going to fucking regret it. Mark my fucking words.” I address the rest of the room.
“I think you broke my fucking nose,” Tucker whines.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t your fucking hand,” I snap.
Grabbing my clothes, I quickly change into my suit and get out of there before I make any more trouble.
***
Time to myself did nothing to help. A few hours later, we’re in the middle of our game and we’re fucking losing. Down by two. We have a chance to get back up, but it won’t be with any help from me.
The game started off great. The few lines I did in the bathroom before coming out here had me wired. I scored our first few goals, and everything was hyped up. Coach looked pleased, the energy was perfect, and even the team forgot about my outburst.
That was until I started to come down from the high. I’m moving slowly, body tired, head pounding, and all I want to do is puke. I’m playing like shit, and it’s showing.
All I need is a break, a chance to get back to the locker room. Once I take another hit, I’ll be good to finish this game.
As I race down the ice, I try to keep my attention on the task. Get the puck, get the goal.
My legs move faster than they have been, and I can’t help but grin. That’s more like it. My eyes are on the puck, watching it pass between my teammates.
When I see my opening, I get ready to take the pass when the other team comes out of nowhere, smashing me against the boards.
I go down hard, pain splintering down my back, taking the air clean out of my lungs.
Everything in me tells me to get up, fight back, pound my fist into his face. But my body won’t move. Like I’m paralyzed or something.
The whistle blows, and screaming erupts around me. Groaning, I manage to get my eyes open to see my teammates fighting with the other team.
“You good, man?” one of my guys asks.
“Gonna puke,” is all I manage to get out before I roll over, lift my helmet up, and puke all over the ice.
I’m too foggy to care about being embarrassed. Everything hurts.
That had to be one of the worst hits I’ve ever taken. It doesn't help that coming down from my high is making me feel a million times worse.
Some of the guys help me to my feet, and Coach asks if I’m okay. The sounds are dulled by the ringing in my ears. Everything is spinning.
In a daze, I look around me and out into the stands. Of course, my eyes have to fall on the one person I’m trying to forget.
Laney watches me with a worried look, and my heart clenches at the fact that she still cares about me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her.
I’m unable to keep my eyes off her, stumbling over my feet.
