Tugging at the cuffs of my sleeves, I reply, “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
Like a rabid dog, he lunges for me, but I dodge his flimsy attack and cock my arm back, my muscles coiling with anticipation. My knuckles land along the bridge of his nose. He screams as I register the crunch of his nose breaking, and blood pours from it once again. Colt and Theo already put him through the wringer during tonight’s game. This is simply the icing on the cake.
He stumbles back, nearly tripping on the discarded chair, and clutches at his bloodied face while expletives fall from his mouth like rain during a storm.
Good.
I have wanted to kick the shit out of Bradley Ackerman for years. While I would love for him to wind up in a body bag, I don’t want to go to prison unless it’s absolutely necessary, so I reel in my rage. Fisting and unfisting my hand, I shake off the ache from the hit. Satisfaction swells in my chest.
Bending down, I pick the fallen chair up and snap, “Sit.”
Grudgingly, he does.
“One more thing.” My gaze narrows as I stare down at him and rest my ass against the edge of the desk again. “Follow her on social media again?” I grab both sides of the chair he’s sitting in, caging him. “I’ll end your entire career. Look at her again? I’ll take everything you’ve ever cared about. Touch her again?” Grabbing the fabric of his jersey, I yank him to his feet, bringing us nose to bloodied nose. “I’ll fucking kill you. That’s a promise, Shorty.” When I let him go, he collapses back into his chair, and I slap my hand against his shoulder to prove my point. “Better wash up. Post-game interviews are starting soon.”
I walk out the door.
57
MIA
The room is buzzing as everyone waits for the players from both teams to make their way onto the stage and answer questions about the game.
I don’t blame them.
I have a few questions too.
Like, what the hell the entire Lions roster was thinking by beating the shit out of Shorty on live television. Colt and Theo were ejected from the game after their little stunt and will likely be suspended for at least one more. The NHL hasn’t come out with their official ruling yet. They’re also going to be fined. I have no idea how much money they’ll be paying. We also lost the game. Five to one.
It makes sense, considering the penalty box being chocked full of Lions players for almost the entire game.
My emotions have been all over the place. Vindicated. Proud. Almost giddy. With a side of guilt, thanks to the loss, fines, and suspensions.
Yeah, I’m kind of a mess, and all I want is to go home and sleep for a week.
“Hey,” Ashlyn greets me, toying with the VIP lanyard around her neck. She bumps her shoulder against mine. “How you doin’?”
“Fine, I guess. Confused,” I clarify. “But fine.”
“Dude, did you see our fiancés out there?” Blake gives her fingertips a chef’s kiss as she sidles up next to us. “Perfection.”
“Yeah, it was definitely something else,” Kate quips. “Macklin was a little worried he’d have to set a couple of broken bones or something after the last fight, but man.” She whistles. “I think Shorty finally got what was coming to him.”
“Amen.” Blakely raises her hand for a high five, and Ashlyn suppresses a laugh as she returns it.
“Amen,” Kate repeats. “Did you guys have any idea they were going to beat the crap out of Shorty tonight?”
They shake their heads. “Nope. We had no idea.”
“Which is probably a good thing,” Ashlyn adds. “Because I would’ve been a mess.”
“Dude, same,” Blakely agrees.
“Listen.” I tug us off to a corner of the room, doing my best to ignore the cameras and recorders scattered throughout the large rectangular space.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ash prods.
“I want to apologize,” I rush out.
Blakely frowns. “For…?”
“Well, for starters, I want to apologize for your fiancés feeling like they needed to make a statement on the ice toni––”
“They would do anything for you, Mia,” Ashlyn interrupts.
“I know,” I reply. “And I know you guys would do anything for me.”
“Duh,” Blakely chirps. “We’re your best friends.”
“I know,” I repeat with a laugh, then sober. Reaching for Ash and Blakely’s hands, I give them a squeeze. “Which is another reason why I want to apologize. I know it isn’t easy being friends with someone who always seems like they’re hell-bent on making it impossible to get close to them.”
Blakely chuckles. “Kate, you better grab Macklin. It seems like Mia bonked her head.”
“I’m serious,” I reply. “I know I push people away. I know I hate letting people in or relying on them. I know I should’ve told you guys about Shorty and fake dating Colt and my OF account and having stalkers and the list goes on and on and on, and I want to say I’m sorry. I’m done putting you all through hell simply because I don’t like admitting I care about each of you.”
“Aww, honey, we know you love us,” Ashlyn says as she tugs me into a hug.
“I do,” I mumble into her shoulder. “I really do.” Two more pairs of arms wrap around me, and I soak it up. “You're the best friends a girl could ever have. I literally don’t know what I’d do without all of you, and I know I’m not always great at showing my gratitude, but I’m going to work on it.”
Knowing I’m not a huge fan of hugs, Ashlyn lets me go and shoos our other friends away.
Once I have a bit of breathing room, I continue. “Without you guys, I don’t know where I’d be.”
“You’d be screwed,” Blakely agrees. “But without you guys, I’d be screwed too.”
“So would I,” Ash says.
“And so would I,” Kate repeats. “But the great thing about best friends is, for better or worse, we know each other inside and out.”
“Yup,” Blakely says. “We know you. We know your past. We know how you tick. We know when you need space. We know when you’re struggling.”
“We know when you’re hiding something,” Ash quips. “And we know when you’re happy.” Her tone softens, and she smiles. “Like how you are with Henry.”
My cheeks pinch at his name, and I let out a dry laugh. “I am happy with Henry.”
“Speak of the devil.” Kate’s head tilts toward the entrance to the press room. “He’s walking this way.”
My eyes fall on Henry striding toward us while my heart rate turns feverish. Long stride. Dark gray suit. Perfectly tousled hair. Sexy smirk.
Goodbye, dry panties.
“Ladies,” he announces once he reaches us. He places his hand on my hip and pulls me against his side. “Do you mind if I steal Mia for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Ashlyn returns. “Besides, Colt’s coming on stage as we speak, and I want to hear how he answers everyone’s questions.”