Chapter 32 - Hunter

T he adrenaline coursing through my veins is making my heart thunder in my ears, forcing me to take a deep breath. I skate as fast as I can toward the guy with the puck, slamming him into the boards as Connor takes control of it and all but flies toward the net, scoring a goal.

We're now up three to one, and I grin at the celebration, which consists of Connor pretending his stick is a guitar. Skating up to him, I tap his helmet and pull him into a hug. "Atta boy," I yell, and the rest of our guys on the ice pile up on us.

Dylan is one of those guys, and my blood heats in my veins. Fuck, I never thought I could hate a teammate before, but just looking at him makes me want to kill him. So I look away, focusing on Connor, even though I catch Dylan's smirk right before I do. My fists tighten in my gloves, and I choose to ignore it.

We get into formation for the faceoff, with Jake—one of our forwards—in the middle, and he wins it. With a smile, I sail after the puck, crossing the rink until I reach past the blue line toward the other team's defensive zone. Connor is on one side of me, while Dylan is on the other side, and even though I know Connor can't make it, I still pass to him.

"What the fuck!" Dylan yells. "I fucking had it, Hartman!"

I smirk, but then Connor passes to him and I roll my eyes. He scores—of fucking course he does. And this time, I don't stick around to watch anymore. The coach calls me back to the bench as new players fill the ice.

My chest heaves as I sit on the bench, taking one of the electrolyte drinks available and squirting it into my mouth. Dylan is still playing, but I try not to keep my eyes on him. He only reminds me of Ollie, how I fucked up last night.

What the hell was I thinking anyway? Going to the couch was a mistake—I knew that before mustering up the courage to do it. But the shit I said to him? How I kissed his forehead and put a blanket on him? I can't even make up excuses for that. It was just plain fucked up.

The problem is that he's not the only one confused. I'm struggling to figure out why I acted that way, knowing I still hate him. It wasn't even to confuse him on purpose; I just had a moment of weakness. And I have to blame my dad for it. He's the one who put me in this impossible position—not that he knows our history.

Oliver knows I can't stand him. He just doesn't know I also can't stand how much I want him. Or maybe he does now—after I spilled my guts last night. I should've never said it to him; I should've just kept my big mouth shut. The hope on his face was enough to bring me to my knees for a split second right before I crushed it.

"Yo, Hartman!" Dylan yells as he skates toward the bench. "I didn't know my boyfriend would be here tonight. I would've dedicated my goal to him."

I narrow my eyes at him and he smirks, getting closer to the bench. Except I fly over it and square up to him. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Oliver's here." He nods toward the crowd, and sure enough, he's sitting right behind us. I hadn't even seen him. "And God, I miss that tight little ass. I swear to fuck, your brother can get it."

Grabbing onto his helmet, I yank it clean off his head, then throw it onto the ice. My gloves are off next before my fist meets his jaw, then I cock it back again, and hit his nose. I feel the moment it breaks against my knuckles and hear the unmistakable crunch of it. I take off my helmet to make it even, and he hits me back. I relish in the pain.

I'm a fucking fighter.

I love the adrenaline rush of a fight during a game—I just never thought it would be against my own teammate.

"Hunter!" Oliver yells, and I don't know how I hear him over the crazy noise of the crowd, but I do. "Stop!"

The referee separates Dylan and me, but not before I use both my fists to pummel Dylan's face. I roar, trying to yank myself free from the ref's grasp and get back to Dylan. He just grins through the blood, spitting it onto the ice. My knuckles are raw and bloody, and I slightly wince at the pain on my face. He didn't break anything, but I know there's blood dripping down.

"You're done." The ref yells, "Out of the game for misconduct."

He calls it, and I skate back to the tunnel, leaving all my shit behind on the ice. They can take care of it for all I care; I know I'm probably done. My coach is gonna?—

"Hartman!" —fucking kill me. "You're fucking suspended!" My coach yells, coming after me. "Get the fuck in the locker room and stay there until I come back."

"And if I don't?"

"Don't fucking test me." He growls. "You fucked up big time. Now, I don't know what problem you have with Matthews, but you don't bring it on the ice—and definitely not during a goddamn game."

"He started it," I mutter. "So I ended it."

"Yeah—that's a great team mentality, son." And then he walks away, leaving me to get back to the locker room.

I don't know what I was thinking—except that I wasn't. Oliver probably doesn't know the reason we were fighting, but I bet he's about to find out. He'll probably get a kick out of it, and I know he's going to have some dumb shit to say about it later. And I might just beat his ass too if he tries to make a big deal out of it.

I don't have time for this shit.

During the second-period intermission, an hour later, everyone returns to the locker room. There's a fucking commotion on the way in, but when they see me sitting on a bench in front of the lockers, everyone falls silent. It's like they don't know how to act around me right now, and it's as if I'm going to attack them too. They probably didn't hear the real reason I beat Dylan's ass, but if they know, I wonder if they see me as an overprotective brother—or for what it actually is.

Jealousy.

I'm not usually a jealous person, but when it comes to Oliver, it's quite apparent I lose my damn mind. I've never cared about things like this before. When I had girlfriends in high school, they didn't matter at all. Maybe because I already had someone who did. When senior year came around, and Crystal was clinging to me like tape, I ripped her off and broke up with her—but not before finding out she was cheating on me. I felt absolutely nothing.

The coach comes in, glaring at me, and I just know that embarrassment is about to follow that look in his eyes. "You're suspended," he growls right in front of everyone. Hushed whispers surround me, but when I look behind the coach, all I can focus on is Dylan's smirk. He didn't get reprimanded since I was the one who hit him first, even though I had a damn good reason to. "Two games."

My stomach drops, and my fists tighten at my sides. " Two? "

"Do you want me to make it more?" He asks, and I stay silent. "I didn't think so, Hartman. I want you to apologize, and then I want you to get out of here. You're coming to practice tomorrow, then three hours of gym time."

"It's fucking Sunday tomorrow," I mutter. "And I'm not apologizing."

"I don't really care." He smiles, then turns toward the team.

I fume for a moment, trying to tune him out. He's giving them a speech about how they have managed to keep up the score even through my mishaps and come out on top. There's still one more period to go, which could change quickly, but he stays positive, and everyone else stays motivated.

"Lions on three!" Dylan yells, and I roll my eyes. "One, two, three !"

"Lions!" Everyone roars, and I will my face to stay impassive.

My teammates sit around on the benches near me, and I'm left alone. That is, until the coach leaves the room and Dylan comes back up to me. His face is still bloody, and bruises and swelling are beginning to make an appearance. But he doesn't seem to mind them as he looks me up and down. Jacob and Connor are already at my side, ready to stop whatever is about to begin. I'm trying to keep calm, but the fucker is making it really hard to.

"Why are you so mad, cupcake?" Dylan grins. "Do you want him too? I'm pretty good at sharing. All you had to do was tell me."

"He's my brother," I growl. "Stay away from him."

"I will." He nods slowly, his grin never dropping. "But only if he wants me to. And he really didn't want me to. If I remember correctly, he was moaning for me to go deeper ."

My nostrils flare because how is it that this motherfucker made it inside of Ollie before me ? "Do you want me to kill you?" I ask him through gritted teeth. "I mean, I'd be happy to, but if you want to live, then shut the fuck up."

Dylan raises his hands in mock surrender, "Fine, fine." He laughs, and some of the other guys join in. "I'm guessing I don't have your blessing to ask him out then?"

"You want to go out with him?" My brows furrow in confusion. For some reason, it never occurred to me that he may want Ollie for more than a casual lay. That makes my hackles rise, and it bothers me more that he might be seeing a future with my?—

"Yep." He says, shrugging. "He's pretty and nice."

"He has a boyfriend." I smile. "James Murdock."

I know damn well that James isn't Ollie's boyfriend—he'd be a dead man if he was—but confusing the shit out of Dylan is bringing me the joy I needed from this situation, even if I am suspended.

"Since when?" He asks, confusion marring his features. I grin. "He didn't cheat, did he?"

"Nah." I shake my head because if I knew one thing about Ollie, it was that he's loyal. "It's new."

"Damn." He shakes his head. "He moves fast."

"Watch it," I growl through gritted teeth. "You're on thin ice."

Dylan shrugs, "It's a good thing I know how to skate."

Everyone files out excitedly when the next period begins, ready to finish the game. I stay in the locker room though, not ready to go home. I'm going to hide in here for a while after the game ends, and then I'm going to shoot some pucks after the Zamboni cleans the ice. I don't have it in me to go home yet. The last thing I want right now is to have to explain myself to Oliver when he confronts me about it—and I know he will. He's never held back with me regarding how he thinks and feels, and I bet he has a lot of feelings right now.

Especially if he knows the reason why I started the fight.