Page 64 of Game Misconduct

I glide out onto the ice, admiring the clean, crisp surface. Perfect for tearing up.

Stick in hand, I start my laps. Once, twice, three times around the rink, getting my legs going. The longer I go, the faster I skate, pushing myself to beat the last lap’s time. Driving myself to skate harder. Forcing my thoughts out of my head.

Because if I stand still, I’ll have to confront that they’re still together, and there’s no chance for me. I’m not the kind of asshole who will go after a woman in a committed relationship. After all, if she’ll leave him for me, who’s to say she won’t leave me for the next guy?

No, cheating is a hard limit for me. My dad had a whole second family, a woman and two kids, only a few blocks away from where my mom and I lived. Their marriage was volatile, but the day Mom died, he ran to the other woman’s arms. I cut him out then and there, but he keeps crawling back, trying to get under my skin. Trying to get a piece of me.

I’m an only child. He may have sired other children, but they aren’t my siblings. Let one of them bail him out or give him another liver. My only family is Elsy.

And now Whitney. He and I are on decent terms, but we’ll never be best friends. We’ll never be close. When he comes to town in a few weeks, I’m sure I’ll have to see him for coffee or dinner. But we don’t text, we don’t talk between games, and we certainly aren’t buddies.

He’s my best friend’s husband. That’s it. That’s all we are.

We grew up in different junior leagues, but we were both named to Team USA for the World Juniors the winter we were nineteen. That’s when he met Elsy the first time. We were teammates. Cordial, professional.

And then he screwed my best friend, and screwed her over, and I broke his nose. He deserved it; I’ll stand by that.

That morning kicked off a decade-plus rivalry that was only put to bed when they got together. We’d antagonize each other on the ice, and he’d give as good as I did, but he’d never fight me. Never fight back. He accepted the pain I inflicted on him, the retribution I sought for Elsy’s sake.

However, Luke Henry fights back. He seems to revel in tossing barbs and throwing punches. I secretly relish it. I’m a goal scorer; guys don’t want to fight me.

But sometimes, a good, old-fashioned punch to the face can reset my equilibrium. It feels even better when I get a few hits in, too.

I skate around and around the rink, until I can hardly feel my legs and my heart pounds and I think I’ve finally, finally chased the demons away.

And then I see him.

Luke Henry sits on the team bench in his warm-up hoodie, eyes narrowed as he watches me. His light brown hair is tousled, like maybe someone’s been running their hands through it.

Bex?

“You skate like you have something to prove,” he says.

“Because I do.” I’m panting as I reach for my bottle, guzzling the electrolyte drink.

“We going to fight tonight?” He says this so casually, like it’s a given. “Or now that I’m not playing with Whit, you finally going to leave me alone?”

“My beef with you has nothing to do with Whitney.”

At least, not the sibling he’s thinking of.

“But you do have beef with me.” Henry draws the words out.

I say nothing.

“If anything, I’m the one who should have an issue with you,” he continues.

“What are you talking about?” A few punches in the middle of a hockey game are no reason to carry a grudge.

“You stole the best thing that happened to me.”

“I didn’t steal shit,” I spit.

“You stole my bestie.”

“I didn’t steal Elsy. She’s yours. She chose you.”

And fuck if I’m not bitter about that. She’s allowed to adopt strays as her pseudo-siblings. I just wish it wasn’t him.