Chapter 28

JAX

I liftmy shoulder and lift off my feet for a split second to put Jordan into the boards.

The thunderous boom is followed by the obvious whistle from the refs.

I roll my eyes and turn.

I'm tossed right into the penalty box for two minutes.

Jordan is fine.

Fucking pussy.

I've left us shorthanded.

I sit there, seething.

I'm grinding my teeth so hard, they're going to crack soon.

I can't take the feeling burning up inside me.

Does it have anything to do with hockey?

Absolutely-fucking-not.

It has everything to do with Mila.

I can't stop thinking about her not wanting to see me.

I know for sure she's forcing herself to stick it out with Ward now just to prove a point to herself.

And that pisses me off.

Talk about wasted time. Wasted fun.

We could be naked in my bed, rolling around, finding new positions.

I could show her what real pleasure looks like.

But nope.

She's with Ward.

And I'm sitting in the goddamn sin bin for another thirty seconds.

I lift my eyes and watch the clock tick down to zero.

Then I'm back on the ice and I go right for Jordan again.

This time he turns and throws his gloves down.

"You want to take a cheap shot at me?" Jordan asks. "I'm right here now, asshole."

I throw my gloves down, then break hockey etiquette and just attack.

I am not in the mood for anything right now.

Including an actual hockey fight.

No way I'm going punch for punch.

I just pounce on Jordan.

I tear at his jersey like it's on fire.

The refs blow their whistles.

Jordan is swinging at air.

Villi skates over to me and all but bearhugs me and gets me out of the way.

This time I'm sent off the ice for the major penalty.

I get to spend the rest of the second period alone in the locker room.

Still seething.

Still thinking about Mila.

Knowing there's no way I can get rid of this feeling.

I can't stroke Mila out of my head or my cock.

I can jerk off until my dick turns purple and it won't matter.

The period ends and the guys come into the locker room.

Coach Damon gives a speech on discipline.

At the very end, he points me out and tells me I'm lucky I'm allowed back in the game. The refs wanted to eject me.

I don't know what Coach Damon wants me to do.

Praise him? Thank him?

I don't give a shit what he does for me or not.

We go back out onto the ice and the third period starts off slow.

Way too slow for me.

I'm in a mood. A really bad one too.

I feel like playing some dirty hockey. Some really dirty hockey.

I start giving cheap hits. I mouth off. I'm getting in everyone's way.

I just want to start shit.

It's not a good thing. Not a good vibe at all.

But I don't care.

Then comes my chance to really do something…

Mac and Gabriel are working toward the goal.

I trail.

I can tell Mac is going to take the shot. He's not completely focused for many reasons.

Mac shoots the puck.

The goalie makes a save but he gives up a decent rebound.

Gabriel is there to try and take another shot.

The goalie grabs the puck.

The play is essentially dead.

Until I come skating in way too late and go right for the goalie.

Yes, it's a dirty play.

And, yes, I deserve to get my ass handed to me.

In a second I'm pounced on by the other team.

I've got three guys taking me down, punching at me.

I end up on the ice and the next thing I feel is a warm, gooey pain just above my right eye.

I see blood dripping down to the ice.

Oh. Fuck.

The bodies are cleared off me and I push myself up.

The second the refs see the blood, they start whistling like crazy for help.

I turn and the look on Mac's face tells me I might be a little bit messed up.

"Is it bad?" I call out.

"Dude, get off the fucking ice!" Villi roars at me.

Next thing I know Coach Damon and one of the trainers are grabbing for me.

The trainer slams a towel to my face.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Coach Damon asks.

"Trying to get the fucking game won," I growl back at him.

"Get out of here, Jax," he says. "Go get patched up, then shower and change. You're done for this game."

I can say some things but I hold it all in.

I'm escorted to the locker room and the trainer looks at my face.

"Stitches," he says.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. That cut is deep and nasty. We've got to get moving right now. Hold the towel against your face. Follow me."

I'm escorted into the medical room and I sit down in a chair.

I stare forward and ignore the pain.

The needle poking me, injecting numbing stuff.

Then the pressure and the tug of the needle and the string going in and out of my skin.

I'm not sure I'm blinking enough as I sit here.

"You doing okay, Jax?"

"Fine," I say to the trainer.

In a matter of minutes I'm all stitched up and good to go.

I get the lecture about taking care of the stitches.

Again, none of it matters to me.

I just keep thinking about Mila.

There's no way she meant it.

Saying she can never talk to me again?

No way.

I strip out of my hockey gear, take a shower, then take some medicine to help with the swelling and pain from the cut and stitches.

Once I'm dressed, I sit in the locker room and wait for the game to end.

I can at least show that much respect to my team.

I'm sure they're all pissed at me.

I'm pissed at myself.

For letting someone like Mila get under my skin.

Under my skin? Fuck that. She's… slammed into my head. My heart. My…

I pinch my nose and growl out loud.

How can I feel anything for someone that I haven't fucked yet?