Page 118 of Player Misconduct
Tarron’s smile is mean now, razor-thin. “Cute, Helsinki. You trying to be the savior here? I was the one who was here when she first found out while you were on vacation.”
That hits hard. She told him first while I was away. Kendall thinking I was dating someone else doesn’t change the fact that Tarron knows where to poke.
“Let her go,” I repeat. “And step away from her.”
He releases her with a show of magnanimity, then pivots into me, low like a linebacker, he runs full speed into me. It knocks the air out of my chest even with my gear on. He’s still a big dude, a football player that knows where to hit to leave a mark—and the rest is instinct. We falter back a few steps from his hit but then I recover quickly, plant my skates into the rubber floor mat under us. Hips turn. One clean uppercut. The kind I’ve thrown a thousand times out on the ice in a brawl. My fists connect with the bones in his face, mostly his nose. A sound like a stick snapping. Blood beads, then spills onto the floor around us. He crumples.
Gasps. Shutters. The white-spray burst of flash hitting concrete and faces as the few people around us get the shot they’ve been praying for to make their quota this month, no doubt.
I instantly look over to see Kendall’s shock, already dropping to her knees in front of Tarron. Always a doctor. “Tarron, lift your head,” she says, voice steady. He reaches for a box of tissues shitting by a short row of plastic chairs in the hallway. Her hands are sure and clinical, but there’s also a side of familiarity to her touch. I know that touch; I’ve wanted it all night. It hits like its own kind of punch that he gets it first.
“I think your nose might be broken,” she tells him. “Elevate it. You need to see someone for this.”
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Tarron grumbles. “Your pussyfoot boyfriend has a shit undercut.”
Tell that to your broken nose asshole.But I don’t need the cameras to catch that too.
Two Sentinels appear, materializing from nowhere. “Bro—let’s go,” one says, grabbing Tarron under the arms.Security boots pound the tile.
“Yeah, get him the hell out of here. I’m sure Coach Evans isn’t going to be happy about this.”
They lift him to his feet. “You’re worried about my coach, Mäkelin? I’d be more concerned with who she ran to first.” he smirks and then glances at her.
“Get him out,” I growl. I don’t step forward. I don’t have to. The threat is baked into my bones.
They drag him, his feet unsure, drunk and nursing a broken nose. Reporters call out questions, hungry. Security swells, trying to push the tide back.
Kendall stands, wipes her hands, and turns to me. Her eyes flick to my fist. The swelling is fast.
She sees the media swirling around us and pulls at my jersey. “Come on, I need to take a look at it,” she says and then pulls me into the safety of the locker room. She takes me to her office and closes the door to give us privacy, and then she takes my hand into her. Her hands aren’t her usual steady ones, there’s a slight shake to them. Adrenaline? Fear? Would she tell me if it were either.
“I don’t care about my hand,” I say, stenching out my fingers back and forth to test if anything feels broken. It hurts like hell but I think it’s fine.
She ignores me and continues her examination. “You need to ice this tonight.” Her gaze flicks up once more. There’s disappointment, fear and likely pain from what just happened out there.
“What happened before I got out there? Did you get him that VIP pass? Did you know he was drinking?”
“He’s been here for the whole game, but no I didn’t invite him. Still, you shouldn't have hit him and broke his nose.”
“He had his hands on you Kendall, what was I supposed to let him do? Drag you out of here while you’re six months pregnant?”
“That hit was harder than it needed to be, and you know it. You broke his nose, and the media got the shot they wanted. This could be really bad… for all three of us.”
I can’t believe she’s saying this. “He hit me first Kendall, and I’ll never let anyone touch you like that, career suspension or not.”
She shakes her head as she reaches for the tape. She starts wrapping up my hand with an ice pack slid in between the layers.
“I need to find Penelope and tell her what happened. Maybe we can do something. You need to get to media.”
“I need to get you home.” I argue.
“You’ve done enough Aleksi,” she barks, her eyes rising to mine, flared.
Shit… she’s mad.
“I just wanted to protect you,” I say, gently taking her wrist just as she finishes wrapping my hand. But I don’t give a shit about my hand. I only care that she understands what I was trying to do. I need her to understand that no man should ever touch her like that.
I want to pull her in and keep the world out. She steps back instead, her eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Aleksi. Just go to take care of the media before people start talking more than they already will be. We need to do damage control and try not to let this get out of hand.”
