Page 89 of Trade It All

Jake hasn’t said a word since his speech. Not one. And that somehow has me more on edge than all of them.

I stand behind the bench, arms folded tight, trying to coach actual hockey while simultaneously tracking four men who have murder on the brain.

This is ridiculous. I’m babysitting. Highly trained, fully grown, revenge-fueled babysitting.

Denver dumps the puck. Jasper retrieves. We cycle. The crowd roars. Another line change.

My eyes go straight to the visiting bench. There. Tyler vaults over the boards.My pulse spikes. Every muscle in my body locks.

I immediately search for the threats. Grady. Jasper. Grady is already turning. Jasper’s shoulders tense.

I shoot both of them a look sharp enough to cut steel.Don’t.

My stare lands on Jasper first.Not a chance.Then Grady.Absolutely not.

I’m practically trying to coach telepathically at this point, willing them with my eyes not to do something that gets me suspended for life. And because I’m so focused on those two idiots—I miss the one person I should have been watching.

Jake.

It happens in less than a second. Tyler barely gets two strides onto the ice before Jake comes across center like a freight train.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure captain-sized fury. He slams Tyler into the glass so hard the entire panel shudders. The arena gasps. Tyler’s helmet goes flying. Jake’s gloves hit the ice.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” My voice is lost among fifteen thousand people losing their minds.

Tyler shoves back. Jake answers with a right hook straight to the jaw. Then another.

The linesmen are moving but not fast enough because Tyler gets one in and Jake just seems to take that as permission to absolutely lose his shit. Punches fly. Players from both benches start screaming.

Chapter 37

Maddie

Itrytowatchthe game. I really do. Camera up. Clips rolling. Focus on the things I’m supposed to be focusing on.

Luka’s glove save in warmups. The boys hyping the crowd after first puck drop. Quick bench reactions for the first-period montage.

Normal things. Routine things. But my eyes keep drifting. Over and over.

To the Denver bench. It’s like my brain refuses to let him out of my line of sight. Like some primitive part of me has decided if I can see where Tyler is, I can control what happens next.

I know that’s irrational. I know I’m safe here. Safer than I could probably be anywhere else in the world.

There are security guards on every level, linesmen on the ice, staff everywhere, and an entire roster of Mustangs who wouldhappily commit violent crimes if he so much as looked at me wrong.

Dean most of all. Still—my gaze keeps going back. Making sure. Tracking. Counting shifts.

Normally I stay closer to the Mustangs end of the ice for the first period. It gives me the best angle for Luka’s saves, the glass close enough to catch his glove flashes and any pileup in front of the crease. The rest of the media team spreads themselves out for the opposite end.

Tonight, though, my feet keep carrying me farther down. Closer to the Mustangs bench. I tell myself it’s for better content. Bench reactions always perform well. Coach shots. Line change energy. But deep down I know better.

I want Dean close. I want him in my sightline. Because some small, still-shaken part of me knows that if anything goes wrong, if this night tips sideways in even the smallest way, Dean will be the first person moving. And I want to be near that. Near him.

The game starts loud. Fast. Chicago loud. Fans on their feet every time Luka touches the puck. Jake barking at the guys from the ice. Grady throwing his body around like he woke up offended by oxygen.

The boys are more amped than normal. I notice it immediately. Checks are harder. Chirping at the Denver bench is sharper. Jasper keeps skating just a little too close on line changes.

But Jake’s speech was intense tonight. Heavy on protecting home ice and taking blood if necessary. I tell myself that’s all this is. They’re fired up. Nothing more.